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An Illustrated Monthly 

Edited by 


Vol. XXXI. 

Xont>on : 



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E. Nesbit. 107, 224, 345, 465 

AMULET, THE. A Story for Children 

Illustrations by H. R. Millar. 


Illustrations by Will Owen. 


Illustrations by J. A. Shepherd. 

ARTISTS' MODELS : Women who have Sat for Men, and Men who have Sat for Women 
Illustrations from Pictures by Famous Artists. 


Illustrations from Photographs. 


Illustrations from Drawings, Sketches, and a Photograph. 


Illustrations from Photographs. 

Illustrations from Sketches and Diagrams. 


Illustrations by J. Finnemore, R.I. 


Illustrations by Will Owen. 


Illustrations from Diagrams. 


Illustrations by Gordon Browne, R.B.A. 

Illustrations from Photographs. 


Illustrations from Photographs. 


Illustrations by A. Wallis Mills. 


Illustrations from Photographs. 


Illustrations from Old Prints. 


Illustrations from Photographs. 





Charles Ray. S7 

Mrs. Baillie Reynolds. 529 

W. W.Jacobs. 689 

... S. Leonard Bastin. 712 

C. C. Andrews. 639 

Col. Lockwoody M.P. 682 

Theodore Waters. 649 

. . . Jerome K. Jerome. 9 1 


G. S. Layard. 353 

116, 236, 356, 476, 596, 716 


Illustrations from Photographs. 


Illustrations by Will Owen. 

Orrin E. Dunlap. 
W. W.Jacobs. 

DRAMATIC SITUATION ? WHAT IS THE FINEST. Opinions of the Leading Playwrights. 

Illustrations by A. D. McCormick, R. B. M. Paxton, and from Photographs and a Painting. 

DRESS AGENCIES : How a Lady may Dress in the Best Style at One-Third of the Ordinary Cost.... 
Illustrations from Photographs. 



Illustrations by Alan Wright. 

M. Sterling Mackinlay, M.A. Oxon. 278 


Illustrations by S. H. Vedder. 

Digitized by Google 

Richard Washburn Child. 

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INDEX. iii. 

| PAGE. 

! FIRE AT SEA Lawrence Perry. 19 

Illustrations from Photographs. 

i FLORAL CLOCK, HOW TO MAKE A S. Leonard Bastin. 712 

1 Illustrations from Diagrams. 

GOLF, TWENTY YEARS OF A. Wallis Myers. 585 

Illustrations from Diagrams. 

HEADS OF GREAT MEN, THE ..Helen Corinne Gillenwater. 315 

Illustrations from Diagrams. 

HEALTHY AT ALL AGES, HOW TO BE. A Symposium of Eminent Doctors 297 

Illustrations from Photographs. 

HIS LORDSHIP W. W. facobs. 26 

Illustrations by Will Owen. 


Illustrations from Photographs by the Author. 

IRVING, HENRY. An Artist's Sketch of an Actor 41 

Written and Illustrated by Harry Furniss. 

KING'S CURING, THE ... Seumas Mac A/anus. 657 

Illustration* by Stephen Reid. 

Illustrations from Photographs. 

KUCHING, A DAY SPENT IN HH. the Ranee of Sarawak. 377 

Illustrations from Drawings and Photographs. 

44 LIGHT VERSE, MY BEST PIECE OF." Selected by the Most Eminent Humorous Poets ... 393 

Illustrations from Photographs. 

LOST PLATO, THE Atthur Thompson, M.A. 265 

Illustrations by W. S. Stacey. 

LOVE-FEAST, THE LAST Basil King. 420 

Illustrations by A. Castaigne and Cyrus Cuneo. 

LOVE-KNOT, A W. W.Jacobs. 290 

Illustrations by Will Owen. 

MAID v. MAN Florence Warden. 671 

Illustrations by P. B. Hickling. 

MALINGERING Litton Forbes, M.D. 319 

Illustrations by Alfred Pearse. 


Illustrations by Warwick Goble. 

MOON, THE NEW THEORY OF THE... Waldemar Kaempffert. 572 

Illustrations from Photographs. 

MOTOR-CAR, ACROSS AMERICA BY. Some Remarkable and Thrilling Trans-Continental 

Journeys Frederick A. Talbot. 513 

Illustrations from Photographs. 

MUTINY ON THE " POTEMKIN," THE A. Kovalenko. 57 

Illustrations by R. Caton Woodville and from Photographs. 

MY DAY OF VENGEANCE E. R. Punshon. 385 

Illustrations by W. Rainey. 

NERVE : Some Instances of Human Fortitude Harold Begbie. 697 

Illustrations by Alfred Pearse. 


Illustrations from Paintings, Sketches, and Photographs. 

PAIR OF ROGUES, A Florence Warden. 167 

Illustrations by P. B. Hickling. 

PETTICOAT INFLUENCE. A Football Story P. G. Wodekouse. 207 

Illustrations by W. S. Stacey. 

PHANTASMS: Some Remarkable Instances of Ghostly Visitations Harold Begbie. 495 

Illustrations by Alfred Pearse. 

PHOTOGRAPH, ONE HUNDRED POUNDS FOR A. Result No. II. -Children ... ... 68 

Illustrations from Paintings and Photographs. 

"PICTURE, MY BEST." By the Most Eminent French Painters Adrian Margaux. 123 

Illustrations from Paintings. , Original fmrT 





"PICTURE, MY BEST." By the Most Eminent German Painters 
Illustrations from Paintings. 


Austria, Emperor of 329 

Battknberg, Princess En a of i9o 

Dare, Miss Zena 668 

French, K.C.B., General Sir John ... 417 

Hawkins, Anthony Hope 105 


Illustrations from Photographs. 


Illustrations by R. Caton Woodville and from Photographs. 


Illustrations by Claude A. Shepperson, R.I. 


Illustrations by A Wallis Mills. 


Illustrations by A. Twidle. 


Illustrations from Photographs. 


Illustrations from Drawings. 


Illustrations by Stanley L. Wood. 


Illustrations from Paintings, Photographs, and Facsimiles. 


Illustrations by Paul Hardy. 

THAT HANSOM. Another Adventure of Sam Briggs 

Illustrations by W. S. Stacey. 


Illustrations by Paul Hardy. 


Illustrations by P. B. Hickling. 

Adrian Margaux. 457 

iAY, Miss Isabel 
foRWAY, Kini; Haakon VII. of 
Norway, Queen Maud of ... 
Spain, King Alfonso XIII. of 

George A. Best. 
A. Kavalenko. 






Rudyard Kipling. 48, 193, 309, 401, 588, 703 

... Winifred Graham. 437 

A. Conan Doyle. 3, 133, 243, 363, 483, 603 

Mary Spencer Warren. 147 

82, 202, 285, 412, 559, 663 

Gilbert Parker. 72 

Mrs. Herbert Vivian. 430 

Miss M. Milbanke. 332 

Richard Marsh. 564 

C. C. Andrews. 503 

Fred M. White. 545 


Illustrations by £. S. Hodgson. 


Illustrations by Alfred Pearse and from Photographs. 

... /. / Bell. 625 
Henry W. Lucy. 33 


by LiC 



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Original from 

The Strand Magazine. 

Vol. xxxi. 

JANUARY, 1906. 

No. 181. 




|Y the date of this chronicle the 
ascetic sternness of the old 
Norman castles had been 
humanized and refined so that 
the new dwellings of the 
nobility, if less imposing in 
appearance, were very much more comfort- 
able as places of residence. A gentler race 
had built their houses rather for peace than 
for war. He who compares the savage bare- 
ness of Pevensey with the piled grandeur 
of Bodiam or Windsor cannot fail to 
understand the change in manners which 
they represent. The earlier castles had a set 
purpose, for they were built that the invaders 
might hold down the country ; but when the 
Conquest was once firmly established a castle 
had lost its meaning, save as a refuge from 
justice or as a centre for civil strife. On the 
marches of Wales and of Scotland the castle 
might continue to be a bulwark to the 
kingdom, and there they still grew and 
flourished ; but in all other places they were 
rather a menace to the King's Majesty, 
and as such were discouraged and destroyed. 
By the reign of the third Edward the greater 
part of the old fighting castles had been con- 
verted into dwelling-houses or had been ruined 
in the Civil Wars, and left where their grim, 
grey bones are still littered upon the brows 
of our hills. The new buildings were either 
great country houses, capable of defence but 
mainly residential, or they were manor-houses 
with no military significance at all. Such 
was the Tilford manor-house, where the last 
survivors of the old and magnificent house 
of Loring still struggled hard to keep a foot- 
ing and to hold off the monks and the 
lawyers from the few acres which were left 
to them. 

The mansion was a two-storied one, framed 
in heavy beams of wood, the interstices filled 
with rude blocks of stone. An outside stair- 
case led up to several sleeping-rooms above. 

Vol. xxxi.— 1. Copyright, 1906, by A. Conan Doy 

Below there were only two apartments, the 
smaller of which was the bower of the aged 
Lady Ermyntrude. The other was the hall, 
a very large room, which served as the living- 
room of the family and as the common 
dining-room of themselves and of their little 
group of servants and retainers. The dwell- 
ings of these servants, the kitchens, the 
offices, and the stables were all represented 
by a row of pent-houses and sheds behind the 
main building. Here lived Charles the page, 
Peter the old falconer, Red Swire, who had 
followed Nigel's grandfather to the Scottish 
wars, Weathercote the broken minstrel, John 
the cook, and other survivors of more 
prosperous days, who still clung to the old 
house as the barnacles to some wrecked and 
stranded vessel. 

One evening, about a week after the 
breaking of the yellow horse, Nigel and his 
grandmother sat on either side of the large, 
empty fireplace in this spacious apartment. 
The supper had been removed and so had 
the trestle tables upon which it had been 
served, so that to modern eyes the room 
would have seemed bare and empty. The 
stone floor was strewed with a thick layer of 
green rushes, which w r as swept out every 
Saturday, and carried with it all the dirt and 
debris of the week. Several dogs were now 
crouched among these rushes, gnawing and 
cracking the bones which had been thrown 
from the table. A long wooden buffet, loaded 
with plates and dishes, filled one end of the 
room ; but there was little other furniture 
save some benches against the walls, two 
dorseret chairs, one small table littered with 
chessmen, and a great iron coffer. In one 
corner was a high wicker-work stand, and on 
it two stately falcons were perched, silent and 
motionless save for an occasional twinkle of 
their fierce yellow eyes. 

But if the actual fittings of the room would 
have appeared scanty to one who had lived 
in a more luxurious age, he would have been 
surprised on looking up to see the multitude 
of objects which were suspended above his 

lc in the United States of America. 



head. Over the fireplace were the coats of- 
arms of a number of houses allied by blood 
or by marriage to the Lorings. The two 
cresset lights which flared upon each side 
gleamed upon the blue lion of the Percies, 
the red birds of de Valence, the black 
engrailed cross of de Mohun, the silver star 
of de Vere, and the ruddy bars of FitzAlan, 
all grouped round the famous red roses on 
the silver shield which the Lorings had borne 
to glory upon many a sanguinary field Then 
from side to side the room was spanned 
by heavy oaken beams from which a great 
number of objects were hanging. There 
were mail shirts of obsolete pattern, several 
shields, one or two rusted and battered 
helmets, bow-staves, lances, otter- spears, 
harness, fishing-rods, and other implements 
of war or of the chase, while higher still, amid 
the black shadows of the peaked roof, could 
be seen rows of hams, flitches of bacon, 
salted geese, and those other forms of pre- 
served meat which played so great a part in 
the housekeeping of the Middle Ages. 

Dame Ermyntrude Loring, daughter, wife, 

and mother of war- 
riors, was herself a 
formidable figure. 
Tall and gaunt, 
with hard, craggy 
features and in- 
tolerant dark eyes, 
even her snow- 
white hair and 
stooping back 
could not entirely 
remove the sense 
of fear which she 
inspired in those 
around her. Her 
thoughts and 
memories went 
back to harsher 
times, and she 
looked upon the 
England around 
her as a degenerate 
and effeminate land 
which had fallen 
away from the old 
standard of knightly 
courtesy and valour. 
The rising power of 
the people, the 
growing wealth of 
the Church, the 
increasing luxury 
in life and manners, 
and the gentler 
tone of the age were all equally abhorrent to 
her, so that the dread of her fierce face, and 
even of the heavy oak staff" with which she 
supported her failing limbs, was widespread 
through all the country round. Yet if she were 
feared she was also respected, for in those 
days, when books were few and readers scarce, 
a long memory and a ready tongue were of 
the more value ; and where, save from Dame 
Ermyntrude, could the young, unlettered 
squires of Surrey and Hampshire hear of 
their grandfathers and their battles, or learn 
that lore of heraldry and chivalry which she 
handed down from a ruder but a more 
martial age? Poor as she was, there was no 
one in Surrey whose guidance would be more 
readily sought upon a question of precedence 
or of conduct than the Dame Ermyntrude 

She sat now with bowed back by the 
empty fireplace, and she looked across at 
Nigel with all the harsh lines of her old 
ruddled face softening into love and pride. 
The young scrr're was busy cutting bird- 
bolts 0flM!R$H^if^*^tling softly as 


he worked. Suddenly he looked up and 
caught the dark eyes which were fixed upon 
him. He leaned forward and patted the 
bony hand. 

" What hath pleased you, dear dame ? I 
read pleasure in your eyes." 

"I have heard to-day, Nigel, how you 
came to win that great war-horse which 
stamps in our stable." 

"Nay, dame, I had told you that the 
monks had given it to me." 

" You said so, fair son, but never a word 
more. Yet the horse which you brought 
home was a very different horse, I wot, to 
that which was given you. Why did you not 
tell me?" 

" I should think it shame to talk of such a 

" So would your father before you, and 
his father no less. They would sit silent 
among the knights when the wine went round 
and listen to every man's deeds, but if per- 
chance there was anyone who spoke louder 
than the rest and seemed to be eager for 
honour, then afterwards your father would 
pluck him softly by the sleeve and whisper 
in his ear, to learn if there was any small vow 
of which he could relieve him, or if he would 
deign to perform some noble deed of arms 
upon his person. And if the man were a 
braggart, and would go no farther, your father 
would be silent and none would know it. 
But if he bore himself well your father would 
spread his fame far and wide, but never make 
mention of himself." 

Nigel looked at the old woman with shining 
eyes. "I love to hear you speak of him," 
said he. " I pray you to tell me once more 
of the manner of his death." 

" He died as he had lived — a very courtly 
gentleman. It was at the great sea-battle 
upon the Norman coast, and your father was 
in command of the after-guard in the King's 
own ship. Now the French had taken a great 
English ship the year before, when they came 
over and held the narrow seas and burned 
the town of Southampton. This ship was the 
Christopher^ and they placed it in the front of 
their battle, but the English closed upon it 
and stormed over its side, and slew all who 
were upon it. But your father and Sir 
Lorredan of Genoa, who commanded the 
Christopher, fought upon the high poop, so 
that all the fleet stopped to watch it, and the 
King himself cried aloud at the sight, for 
Sir Lorredan was a famous man-at-arms and 
bore himself very stoutly that day, and many 
a knight envied your father that he should 
have chanced upon so excellent a person. 

But your father bore him back and struck 
him such a blow with a mace that he turned 
the helmet half round on his head, so that he 
could no longer see through the eye- holes, 
and Sir Lorredan threw down his sword and 
gave himself to ransom. But your father 
took him by the helmet and twisted it until 
he had it straight upon his head. Then, 
when he could see once again, he handed him 
his sword, and prayed him that he would rest 
himself and then continue, for it was great 
profit and joy to see any gentleman carry 
himself so well. So they sat together and 
rested by the rail of the poop, but even as 
they raised their hands again your father was 
struck by a stone from a mangonel and so 

"And this Sir Lorredan," cried Nigel; 
" he died also, as I understand ? '* 

" I fear that he was slain by the archers, 
for they loved your father and they do not 
see these things with our eyes." 

" It was a pity," said Nigel, "for it is clear 
that he was a good knight and bore himself 
very bravely." 

"Time was, when I was young, when 
commoners dared not have laid their grimy 
hands upon such a man. Men of gentle 
blood and coat-armour made war upon each 
other, and the others, spearmen or archers, 
could scramble amongst themselves. But 
now all are of a level, and only here and 
there one, like yourself, fair son, who reminds 
me of the men who are gone." 

Nigel leaned forward and took her hands 
in his. " What I am you have made me," 
said he. 

" It is true, Nigel. I have indeed watched 
over you as the gardener watches his most 
precious blossom, for in you alone are all 
the hopes of our ancient house, and soon — 
very soon — you will be alone." 

" Nay, dear lady, say not that." 

" I am very old, Nigel, and I feel the 
shadow closing in upon me. My heart 
yearns to go, for all whom I have known and 
loved have gone before me. And you — it 
will be a blessed day for you, since I have 
held you back from that world into which 
your brave spirit longs to plunge." 

" Nay, nay ; I have been happy here with 
you at Tilford." 

" We are very poor, Nigel. I do not 

know where we may find the money to fit 

you for the wars. Yet we have good friends. 

There is Sir John Chandos, who has won 

such credit in the French wars, and who 

rides ever by the King's bridle-arm. He 

was vour father's friend, and they were 
UnKLrOI I r Ur MILnlbMN 


squires together. If I send you to Court 
with a message to him he would do what he 

Nigel's fair face flushed. 

" Nay, Dame Ermyntrude, I must find my 
own gear, even as I have found my own 
horse, for I had rather ride into battle in this 
tunic than owe my suit to another." 

11 1 feared that you would say so, Nigel, 
but indeed I know not how else we may get 
the money," said the old woman, sadly. " It 
was different in the days of my father. I 
can remember that a suit of mail was but 
a small matter in those days, for in every 
English town such things could be made. 
But year by year, since men have come to 
take more care of their bodies, there have 
been added a plate of proof here and a 
cunning joint there, and all must be from 
Toledo or Milan, so that a knight must have 


much metal in his purse ere he put any on 
his limbs." 

Nigel looked up wistfully at the old armour 
which was slung on the beams above him. 

"The ash spear is good," said he, "and 
so is the oaken shield with facing of steel. 
Sir Roger FitzAlan handled them and said 
that he had never seen better. But the 

armour- " 

Lady Ermyntrude shook her old head and 

" You have your father's great soul, Nigel, 

but you have not his mighty breadth of 

shoulder and length of limb. There was not 

in all the King's great host a taller or a 

stronger man. His harness would be little 

use to you. No, fair son, I rede you that 

when the time comes you sell this crumbling 

house and the few acres which are still left, 

and so go forth to the wars in the hope that 

with your own right 

hand you will plant the 

fortunes of a new house 

of Loring." 

A shadow of anger 
passed over Nigel's fresh 
young face. 

11 1 know not if we 
may hold off these monks 
and their lawyers much 
longer* This very day 
there came a man from 
Guildford with claims 
from the Abbey extend- 
ing back before my 
father's death." 

" Where are they, fair 
son ? " 

11 They are flapping 
on the furze bushes of 
Hankley, for I sent his 
papers and parchments 
down wind as fast as 
ever falcon flew." 

" Nay, you were mad 
to do that, Nigel. And 
the man, where is he ? " 
"Red Swire and old 
George the archer threw 
him into the Thursley 

" Alas ! I fear me such 
things cannot be done 
in these days, though 
my father or my husband 
would have sent the 
rascal back to Guildford 
without his ears. But 

A rmouk.» UNIVERSITY Of»ffll0 l MKh and the law 


are too strong now for us who are of gentle 
blood. Trouble will come of it, Nigel, for 
the Abbot of Waverley is not one who will 
hold back the shield of the Church from 
those who are her servants." 

"The Abbot would not hurt us. It is 
that grey, lean wolf of a sacrist who hungers 
for our land. Let him do his worst I fear 
him not." 

" He has such an engine at his back, 
Nigel, that even the bravest must fear him. 
The ban which blasts a man's soul is in the 
keeping of his Church, and what have we to 
place against it ? I pray you to speak him 
fair, Nigel." 

" Nay, dear lady, it is both my duty and 
my pleasure to do what you bid me, but I 
would die ere I ask as a favour that which 
we can claim as a right. Never cap I cast 
my eyes frorrt yonder window that I do not 
see the swelling down- land and the rich 
meadows, glade and dingle, copse and wood, 
which have been ours since Norman William 
gave them to that Loring who bore his shield 
at Senlac. Now, by trick and fraud, they have 
passed away from us, and many a franklin is 
a richer man than I, but never shall it be 
said that I saved the rest by bending my 
neck to their yoke. Let them do their worst, 
and let me endure it or fight it as best I 

The old lady sighed and shook her head. 

" You speak as a Loring should, and yet I 
fear that some great trouble will befall us. 
But let us talk no more of such matters, since 
we cannot mend them. Where is your citole, 
Nigel ? Will you not play and sing to me ? " 

The gentleman of those days could scarce 
read and write, but he spoke in two languages, 
played at least one musical instrument as a 
matter of course, and possessed a number of 
other accomplishments unknown to modern 
culture, from the imping of hawks' feathers to 
the mystery of venerie, with knowledge of 
every beast and bird, its times of grace and 
when it is seasonable. So far as physical 
power went, to vault barebacked upon a 
horse, to hit a running hare with a cross- 
bow bolt, or to climb the angle of a castle 
courtyard were feats which had come by 
nature to the young squire, but it was very 
different with music, which had called for 
many a weary hour of irksome work. Now 
at last he could master the strings, but both 
his ear and his voice were not of the best, so 
that it was well, perhaps, that there was so 
small and so prejudiced an audience to the 
Norman-French chanson which he sang in, a 
high, reedy voice with great earnestness of 

feeling, but with many a slip and quaver, 
waving his yellow head in cadence to the 
music : — 

A sword ! A sword ! 
All ! give me a sword, 
For the world is all to win. 
Though the way be hard 
And the door be barred, 
The strong man enters in. 
If Chance and Fate 
Still hold the gate, 
Give me the iron key, 
And turret high 
My plume shall fly, 
Or you may weep for me. 

A horse ! A horse ! 

Ah ! give me a horse 
To bear me out afar 

Where blackest need 

And grimmest deed 
And sweetest perils are. 

Hold thou my ways 

From glutted days 
Where poisoned leisure lies, 

And point the path 

Of tears and wrath 
Which mounts to high emprise. 

A heart ! A heart ! 

Ah ! give me a heart 
To rise to circumstance ; 

Serene and high 

And l>old to try 
The hazard of the chance. 
• With strength to wait, 

But fixed as Fate 
To plan and dare and do, 

The peer of all, 

And only thrall, 
Sweet lady mine, to you. 

It may have been that the sentiment went 
for more than the music, or it may have been 
that the nicety of her own ear had been dulled 
by age, but old Dame Ermyntrude clapped 
her lean hands together and cried out in shrill 

"Weathercote has indeed had an apt 
pupil," she said. " I pray you that you will 
sing again." 

" Nay, dear dame ; it is turn and turn 
betwixt you and me. I beg that you will 
recite a romance — you who know them all. 
For all the years that I have listened I have 
never yet come to the end of them, and I 
dare swear that there are more in your head 
than in all the great book which they showed 
me at Guildford Castle. I would fain hear 
Doon of Mayence, or the Song of Roland, 
or Sir Isumbras." 

So the old dame broke into a long poem, 
slow and dull in the inception, but quicken- 
ing as the interest grew, until with darting 
hands and glowing face she poured forth the 
verses which told of the emptiness of sordid 
life, the beauty of heror'c death, the high 
sacre^^ER^|^v.9f ffl^Hlfe] bonda g e o{ 




honour. Nigel, with set, still features and 
brooding eyes, drank in the fiery words, 
until at last they died upon the old 
woman's lips, and she sank back weary in 
her chair. Nigel stooped over her and kissed 
her brow. 

" Your words will ever be as a star upon 
my path," said he. Then, carrying over the 
small table and the chessmen, he proposed 
that they should play their usual game before 
they sought their rooms for the night. 

But a sudden and rude interruption broke 
in upon their gentle contest A dog pricked 
its ears and barked. The others ran growl- 
ing to the door. And then there came a 
sharp clash of arms, a dull, heavy blow as 
from a club or sword-pommel, and a deep 
voice from without summoned them to open 
in the King's name. The old dame and 
Nigel had both sprung to their feet, their 
table overturned and their chessmen scattered 
among the rushes. NigeFs hand had sought 
his cross-bow, but the Lady Ermyntrude 
grasped his arm. 

" Nay, fair son, have you not heard that it 
is in the King's name ? " said she. " Down, 

Talbot ! Down, Bayard ! Open the door 
and let his messenger in." 

Nigel undid the bolt 
and the heavy wooden 
door swung outwards 
upon its hinges. The 
light from the flaring 
cressets beat upon steel 
caps and fierce, bearded 
faces, with the glimmer 
of drawn swords and the 
yellow gleam of bow- 
staves. A dozen armed 
archers forced their way 
into the room. At their 
head were the gaunt 
sacrist of Waverley and 
a stout, elderly man clad 
in a red velvet doublet 
and breeches, much 
stained and mottled with 
mud and clay. He bore 
a great sheet of parch- 
ment with a fringe of 
dangling seals, which he 
held aloft as he entered. 
"I call on Nigel 
Luring," he cried. " I, the officer 
of the King's law and the lay sum- 
moner of Waverley, call upon the 
man named Nigel Loring." 

ORTH tc t t_ >t 

" I am he. 

" Yes, it is he," cried the sacrist. 
" Archers, do as you were ordered." 

In an instant the band threw themselves 
upon him like the hounds on a stag. Des- 
perately Nigel strove to gain his sword, 
which lay upon the iron coffer. With the 
convulsive strength which comes from the 
spirit rather than from the body, he bore them 
all in that direction, but the sacrist snatched 
the weapon from its place, and the rest 
dragged the writhing squire to the ground 
and swathed him in a cord. 

" Hold him fast, good archers, keep a 
stout grip on him ! " cried the summoner. 
" I pray you, one of you, prick off these 
great dogs which snarl at my heels Stand 
off, I say, in the name of the King! Watkin, 
come betwixt me and these creatures, who 
have as little regard for the law as their 

One of the archers kicked off the faithful 
dogs. But there were others of the house- 
hold who were equally ready to show their 
teeth in defence of the old house of Loring. 
From the door which led to their quarters 
there emerged the pitiful muster of Nigel's 
threadJttfe" Eftet JftpeX* . iVilTHWft Nwas a time 


when ten knights, forty men-at-arms, and two 
hundred archers would march behind the 
scarlet roses. Now at this last rally, when 
the young head of the house lay bound in 
his own hall, there mustered at his call the 
page Charles with a cudgel, John the cook 
with his longest spit, Red Swire, the aged 
man-at-arms, with a formidable axe swung 
over his snowy head, and Weathercote the 
minstrel with a boar-spear. Yet this motley 
array was fired with the spirit of the house, 
and under the lead of the fierce old soldier 
they would certainly have flung themselves 
upon the ready swords of the archers, had 
the Lady Ermyntrude not swept between 

" Stand back, Swire ! " she cried. " Back, 
Weathercote ! Charles, put a leash on 
Talbot and hold Bayard back ! " Her black 
eyes blazed upon the invaders until they 
shrank from that baleful gaze. " Who are 
you, you rascal robbers, who dare to misuse 
the King's name, and to lay hands upon one 
whose smallest drop of blood has more worth 
than all your gross and caitiff bodies ? " 

" Nay, not so fast, dame ; not so fast, I 
pray you ! " cried the stout summoner, whose 
face had resumed its natural colour now that 
he had a woman to deal with. " There is 
a law of England, mark you, and there are 
those who serve it and uphold it, who are 
the true men and the King's own lieges. 
Such a one am I. Then, again, there are 
those who take such as me and transfer, 
carry, or convey us into a bog. or morass. 
Such a one is this graceless old man with the 
axe, whom I have seen already this day. 
There are also those who tear, destroy, or 
scatter the papers of the law, of which this 
young man is the chief. Therefore, I would 
rede you, dame, not to rail against us, but 
to understand that we are the King's men on 
the King's own service." 

"What, then, is your errand in this house 
at this hour of the night ? " 

The summoner cleared his throat pom- 
pously, and, turning his parchment to the 
light- of the cressets, he read out a long 
document in Norman-French, couched in 
such a style and such a language that the 
most involved and foolish of our forms are 
simplicity itself compared to those by which 
the men of the long gown made a mystery 
of that which of all things on earth should be 
the plainest and the most simple. Despair 
fell cold upon Nigel's heart and blanched the 
face of the old dame as they listened to the 
dread catalogue of claims and suits and 
issues, questions of peccary and turbary, of 

Vol. x**i,— 2 

housebote and fire-bote, which ended by a 
demand for all the lands, hereditaments, 
tenements, messuages, and curtilages which 
made up their worldly all. 

Nigel, still bound, had been placed with 
his back against the iron coffer, whence he 
heard with dry lips and moist brow this 
doom of his house. Now he broke in on the 
recital with a vehemence which made the 
summoner jump. 

" You shall rue what you have done this 
night," he cried. " Poor as we are, we have 
our friends who will not see us wronged, 
and I will plead my cause before the King's 
Own Majesty at Windsor, that he, who saw 
the father die, may know what things are 
done in his Royal name against the son. 
But these matters are to be settled in 
course of law in the King's courts, and how 
will you excuse yourself for this assault upon 
my house and person ? " 

"Nay, that is another matter," said the 
sacrist. " The question of debt may indeed 
be an affair of a civil court. But it is a crime 
against the law and an act of the devil which 
comes within the jurisdiction of the Abbey 
Court of Waverley when you dare to lay 
hands upon the summoner or his papers." 

" Indeed he speaks truth," cried the official. 
" I know no blacker sin." 

"Therefore," said the stem monk, "it h 
the order of the holy Father Abbot that you 
sleep this night in the Abbey cell, and that 
to-morrow you be brought before him at the 
court held in the chapter-house, so that you 
receive the fit punishment for this and the 
many other violent and froward deeds which 
you have wrought upon the servants of Holy 
Church. Enough is now said, worthy Master 
Summoner. Archers, remove your prisoner ! " 

As Nigel was lifted up by four stout archers 
the Dame Ermyntrude would have rushed to 
his aid, but the sacrist thrust her back. 

" Stand off, proud woman ! Let the law 
take its course, and learn to humble your 
heart before the power of Holy Church. Has 
your life not taught its lesson — you, whose 
horn was exalted among the highest, and will 
soon not have a roof above your grey hairs ? 
Stand back, I say, lest I lay a curse above 

The old dame flamed suddenly into white 
wrath as she stood before the angry monk. 

" Listen to me while I lay a curse upon 
you and yours," she cried, as she raised her 
shrivelled arms and blighted him with her 
flashing eyes. " As you have done to the 
house of Loring, so may God do to you, 



England, and of your great Abbey of 
Waverley there is nothing left but a pile of 
grey stones in a green meadow. I see it ! 
I see it ! With my old eyes I see it ! From 
scullion to Abbot, and from cellar to tower, 
may Waverley and 
all within it droop 
and wither from 
this night on." 

The monk, 
hard as he was, 
quailed before the 
frantic figure and 
the bitter, burning 
words. Already 
the summoner 
and the archers 
with their prisoner 
were clear of the 
house. He turned, 
and with a clang 
he shut the heavy 
door behind him. 






The law of the 
Middle Ages, 
shrouded as it was 
in old Norman* 
French dialect, 
and abounding in 
uncouth and in- 
terms, in deo- 
dands and heriots, 
in infang and out- 
fang, was a fearsome weapon in the hands 
of those who knew how to use it. It was 
not for nothing that the first act of the rebel 
commoners was to hew off the head of the 
Lord Chancellor. In an age when few knew 
how to read or to write, these mystic phrases 
and intricate forms, with the parchments and 
seals which were their outward expression, 
struck cold terror into hearts which were 
steeled against mere physical danger. Even 
young Nigel Loring's blithe and elastic spirit 
was chilled as he lay that night in the penal 
cell of Waverley, and pondered over the 
absolute ruin which threatened his house 
from a source against which all his courage 
was of no avail. As well take up sword and 
shield to defend himself against the Black 
Death as against this blight of Holy Church. 
He was powerless in the grip of the Abbey. 


Already they had shorn off a field here and a 
grove there, and now in one sweep they would 
take in the rest ; and where then was the 
home of the Lorings, and where should the 
Lady Ermyntrude lay her aged head, or his 

old retainers, 
broken and spent, 
eke out the bal- 
ance of their days? 
He shivered as he 
thought of it It 
was very well for 
him to' threaten to 
carry the matter 
before the King, 
but it was ten 
years since Royal 
Edward had heard 
the name of Lor- 
ing, and Nigel 
knew that the 
memory of Princes 
is a short one. 
Besides, the 
Church was the 
ruling power in 
the palace as well 
as in the cottage, 
and it was only for 
very good cause 
that a King could 
be expected to 
cross the purposes 
of so high a pre- 
late as the Abbot 
of Waverley, so 
long as they came 
within the scope 
of the law. Where, 
then, was he to 
look for help? With the simple and practical 
piety of the age he prayed for the aid of his 
own particular saints — of St. Paul, whose 
adventures by land and sea had always en- 
deared him ; of St. George, who had gained 
much honourable advancement from the 
] )ragon ; and of St, Thomas, who was a 
gentleman of coat-armour, who would under- 
stand and help a person of gentle blood. 
Then, much comforted by his naive orisons, 
he enjoyed the sleep of youth and health 
until the entrance of the lay-brother with the 
bread and small beer which served as break- 
fast in the morning. 

The Abbey Court sat in the chapter-house 
at the canonical hour of tierce, which was 
nine in the forenoon. At all times the 
function was a, even when the 
culprit might--toifliH a WKKT who was taken 


1 1 

poaching on the Abbey estate, or a chapman 
who had given false measure from his biased 
scales. But now, when a man of noble birth 
was to be tried, the whole legal and eccle- 
siastical ceremony was carried out with every 
detail, grotesque or impressive, which the full 
ritual prescribed. To the distant roll of 
Church music and the slow tolling of the 
Abbey bell the white-robed brethren, two and 
two, walked thrice round the hall singing the 
" Benedicite " and the " Veni Creator " before 
they settled in their places at the desks on 
either side. Then in turn each high officer of 
the Abbey from below upwards — the almoner, 
the lector, the chaplain, the sub-prior, and 
the prior — swept to their wonted places. 
Finally there came the grim sacrist, with 
demure triumph upon his downcast features ; 
and at his heels Abbot John himself, slow 
and dignified, with pompous walk and 
solemn, composed face, his iron-beaded 
rosary swinging from his waist, his breviary 
in his hand, and his lips muttering as he 
hurried through the office for the day. He 
knelt at his high prie-dieu ; the brethren, at 
a signal from the prior, prostrated themselves 
upon the floor, and the low, deep voices 
rolled in prayer, echoed back from the 
arched and vaulted roof like the wash of 
waves from an ocean cavern. Finally 
the monks resumed their seats, there 
entered clerks in seemly black, with pens 
and parchment ; the red velvet summoner 
appeared to tell his tale ; Nigel was led in, 
with archers pressing close around him ; and 
then, with much calling of old French and 
much legal incantation and mystery, the 
Court of the Abbey was open for business. 
It was the sacrist who first advanced to 
the oaken desk reserved for the witnesses, 
and expounded in hard, dry, mechanical 
fashion the many claims which the house of 
VVaverley had against the family of Loring. 
Some generations back, in return for money 
advanced or for spiritual favour received, the 
Loring of the day had admitted that his 
estate had certain feudal duties towards the 
Abbey. The sacrist held up the crackling 
yellow parchment with swinging leaden seals 
on which the claim was based. Amid the 
obligations was that of escuage, by which 
the price of a knight's fee should be paid 
every year. No such price had been paid, 
nor had any service been done. The accu- 
mulated years came now to a greater sum 
than the fee simple of the estate. There 
were other claims also. The sacrist called 
for his books, and with thin, eager forefinger 
be tracked them down, dues for this and 

tallage for that, so many shillings this year 
and so many marks that one. Some of it 
occurred before Nigel was born, some of 
it when he was but a child. The accounts 
had been checked and certified by the serjeant 
of the law. Nigel listened to the dread 
recital and felt like some young stag who 
stands at bay with brave pose and heart of 
fire, but who sees himself compassed round 
and knows clearly that there is no escape. 
With his bold young face, his steady blue 
eyes, and the proud poise of his head he 
was a worthy scion of the old house ; and 
the sun, shining through the high oriel 
window and showing up the stained and 
threadbare condition of his once rich doublet, 
seemed to illuminate the fallen fortunes of 
his family. 

The sacrist had finished his exposition, 
and the serjeant-at-law was about to con- 
clude a case which Nigel could in no way 
controvert, when help came to him from an 
unexpected quarter. It may have been a 
certain malignity with which the sacrist 
urged his suit, it may have been a diplomatic 
dislike to driving matters to extremes, or it 
may have been some genuine impulse of 
kindliness, for Abbot John was choleric, but 
easily appeased. Whatever the cause, the 
result was that a white, plump hand, raised 
in the air with a gesture of authority, showed 
that the case was at an end. 

" Our Brother Sacrist hath done his duty 
in urging this suit," said he, u for the worldly 
wealth of this Abbey is placed in his pious 
keeping, and it is to him that we should 
look if we suffered in such ways, for we are 
but the trustees of those who come after us. 
But to my keeping has been consigned that 
which is more precious still, the inner spirit 
and high repute of those who follow the rule 
of St. Bernard. Now, it has ever been 
our endeavour, since first our saintly founder 
went down into the valley of Clairvaux and 
built himself a cell there, that we should set 
an example to all men in gentleness and 
humility. For this reason it is that we build 
our houses in lowly places, that we have no 
tower to our Abbey churches, and that no 
finery and no metal, save only iron or lead, 
come within our walls. A brother shall eat 
from a wooden platter, drink from an iron 
cup, and light himself from a leaden sconce. 
Surely it is not for such an Order, who await 
the exaltation which is promised to the 
humble, to judge their own case and so 
acquire the lands of their neighbour. If our 
cause be just. as. indeed, I believe that it is, 

*iMmmB&\f ***** °* 



King's Assizes at Guildford, and so I decree 
that the case be now dismissed from the 
Abbey Court so that it can be heard else- 

Nigel breathed a prayer to the three sturdy 
saints who had stood by him so manfully 
and well in the hour of his need. 

"Abbot John," said he, " I never thought 
that any man of my name would utter thanks 
to a Cistercian of Waverley, but by St. Paul 
you have spoken like a man this day, for it 
would indeed be to play with cogged dice if 
the Abbey's case is to be tried in the Abbey 

The eighty white-clad brethren looked 
with half-resentful, half-amused eyes as they 
listened to this frank address to one who, in 
their small lives, seemed to be the direct 
vice-regent of Heaven. The archers had 
stood back from Nigel as though he were at 
liberty to go, when the loud voice of the 
summoner broke in upon the silence. 

11 If it please you, holy Father Abbot," 
cried the voice, " this decision of yours is 
indeed secundum legem and intra vires so far 


as the civil suit is concerned which lies 
between this person and the Abbey. That 
is your affair. But it is I, Joseph the sum- 
moner, who have been grievously and crimi- 
nally mishandled, my writs, papers, and 
indentures destroyed, my authority flouted, 
and my person dragged through a bog, quag- 
mire, or morass, so that my velvet gabardine 
and silver badge of office were lost and are, 
as I verily believe, in the morass, quagmire, 
or bog afore-mentioned, which is the same 

hog, morass " 

" Enough ! " cried the Abbot, sternly. " Lay 
aside this foolish fashion of speech and say 
straightly what you desire." 

" Holy father, I have been the officer of 
the King's law no less than the servant of 
Holy Church, and I have been let, hindered, 
and assaulted in the performance of my law- 
ful and proper duties, while my papers, drawn 
in the King's name, have been shended and 
rended and cast to the wind. Therefore I 
demand justice upon this man in the Abbey 
Court, the said assault having been com- 
mitted within the banlieue of the Abbey's 


"What have 
you to say to this, 
Brother Sacrist?" 
asked the Abbot, 
in some perplexity. 
" I would say, 
father, that it is 
within our power 
to deal gently and 
charitably with all 
that concerns our- 
selves, but that 
where the Kings 
officer is con- 
cerned we are 
wanting in our 
duty if we give 
him less than the 
protection that he 
demands. I would 
remind you also, 
holy father, that 
this is not the first 
of this man's 
violence, but that 
he has before now- 
beaten our ser- 
vants, defied our 
authority, and put 
pike in the Abbot's 
own fish-pond." 
The prelate's 


Original from 





flushed with anger as this old grievance came 
fresh into his mind. His eyes hardened as 
he looked at the prisoner. 

"Tell me, Squire Nigel, did you indeed 
put pike in the pond ? " 

The young man drew himself proudly up. 

"Ere I answer such a question, Father 
Abbot, do you answer one from me, and tell 
me what the monks of Waverley have ever 
done for me that I should hold my hand 
when I could injure them ? " 

A low murmur ran round the room, partly 
wonder at his frankness and partly anger at 
his boldness. The Abbot settled down in 
his seat as one who has made up his mind. 

" Let the case of the summoner be laid 
before me," said he. "Justice shall be done 
and the offender shall be punished, be he 
noble or simple. I>et the plaint be brought 
before the Court." 

The tale of the summoner, though rambling 
and filled with endless legal reiteration, was 
only too clear in its essence. Red Swire, 
with his angry face framed in white bristles, 
was led in, and confessed to his ill-treatment 
of the official. A second culprit, a little wiry 
nut-brown archer from Churt, had aided and 
abetted in the deed. Both of them were 
ready to declare that young Squire Nigel 
Loring knew nothing of the matter. But 
then there was the awkward incident of the 
tearing of the writs. Nigel, to whom a lie 
was ar\ impossibility, had to admit that with 
his own hands he had shredded those august 
documents. As to an excuse or an explana- 
tion, he was too proud to advance any. A 
cloud gathered over the brow of the Abbot, 
and the sacrist gazed with an ironical smile 
at the prisoner, while a solemn hush fell over 
the chapter-house as the case ended and only 
judgment remained. 

" Squire Nigel," said the Abbot, " it was 
for you, who are, as all men know, of ancient 
lineage in this land, to give a fair example 
by which others should set their conduct. 
Instead of this, your manor-house has ever 
been a centre for the stirring-up of strife, and 
now, not content with your harsh showing 
towards us, the Cistercian monks of Waverley, 
you have even marked your contempt for the 
King's law, and through your servants have 
mishandled the person of his messenger. For 
such offences it is in my power to call the 
spiritual terrors of the Church upon your 
head ; and yet I would not be harsh with you, 
seeing that you are young, and that even last 
week you saved the life of a servant of the 
Abbey when in peril. Therefore, it is by 
temporal and carnal means that I will use 

my power to tame your over-bold spirit, and 
to chasten that headstrong and violent humour 
which has caused such scandal in your deal- 
ings with our Abbey. Bread and water for 
six weeks, from now to the Feast of St. 
Benedict, with a daily exhortation from our 
chaplain, the pious Father Ambrose, may still 
avail to bend the stiff neck and to soften the 
hard heart." 

At this ignominious sentence, by which the 
proud heir of the house of Loring would 
share the fate of the meanest village poacher, 
the hot blood of Nigel rushed to- his face, 
and his eye glanced round him with a gleam 
which said more plainly than words that 
there could be no tame acceptance of such 
a doom. Twice he tried to speak, and twice 
his anger and his shame held the words in 
his throat. 

" I am no subject of yours, proud Abbot," 
he cried at last. " My house has ever been 
vavasour to the King. I deny the power of 
you and your Court to lay sentence upon me. 
Punish these your own monks, who whimper 
at your frown, but do not dare to lay your 
hand upon him who fears you not, for he is 
a free man. and the peer of any save only the 
King himself." 

The Abbot seemed for an instant taken 
aback by these bold words and by the high 
and strenuous voice in which they were 
uttered. But the sterner sacrist came as ever 
to stiffen his will. He held up the old parch- 
ment in his hand. 

"The Lorings were indeed vavasours to 
the King," said he, " but here is the very seal 
of Eustace Loring, which shows that he made 
himself vassal to the Abbey and held his 
land from it." 

" Because he was gentle," cried Nigel ; 
" because he had no thought of trick or 

" Nay ! " said the summoner. " If my 
voice may be heard, Father Abbot, upon a 
point of the law, it is of no weight- what the 
causes may have been why a deed is sub- 
scribed, signed, or confirmed, but a Court is 
only concerned with the terms, articles, 
covenants, and contracts of the said deed." 

" Besides," said the sacrist, " sentence is 
passed by the Abbey Court, and there is an 
end of its honour and good name if it be not 

" Brother Sacrist," said the Abbot, angrily, 
" methinks you show overmuch zeal in this 
case, and certes we are well able to uphold 
the dignity and honour of the Abbey Court 
without any a fcftlQ|-of thine. As to you, 
>Vftifth^r^i*y^e^|^ f -wi^ give your opinion 



when we crave for it, and not before, or 
you may yourself get some touch of the 
power of our tribunal. But your case hath 
been tried, Squire Loring, and judgment 
given. I have no more to say." 

He motioned with his hand, and an archer 
laid his grip upon the shoulder of the 
prisoner. But that rough plebeian touch 
woke every passion of revolt in Nigel's spirit 
Of all his high line of ancestors was there 
one who had been subjected to such ignominy 
as this? Would they not have preferred 
death ? And should he be the first to lower 
their spirit or their traditions ? With a quick, 
lithe movement he slipped under the arm of 
the archer and plucked the short, straight 
sword from the soldier's side as he did so. 
The next instant he had wedged himself into 
the recess of one of the narrow windows, and 
there were his pale, set face, his burning 
eyes, and his ready blade turned upon the 

" By St. Paul ! " said he, " I never thought 
to find honourable advancement under the 
roof of an Abbey, but perchance there may 
be some room for it ere you hale me to your 

The chapter- house was in an uproar. 
Never in the long and decorous history of 
the Abbey had such a scene been witnessed 
within its walls. The monks themselves 
seemed for an instant to be infected by 
this spirit of daring revolt. Their own life- 
long fetters hung more loosely as they viewed 
this unheard-of defiance of authority. They 
broke from their seats on either side and 
huddled, half scared, half fascinated, in a 
large half-circle round the defiant captive, 
chattering, pointing, grimacing, a scandal for 
all time. Scourges should fall and penance 
be done for many a long week before the 
shadow of that day should pass from Waver- 
ley. But meanwhile there was no effort to 
bring them back to their rule. Everything 
was cha€>s and disorder. The Abbot had 
left his seat of justice and hurried angrily 
forward, to be engulfed and hustled in the 
crowd of his own monks like a sheep-dog 
who finds himself entangled amid the flock. 
Only the sacrist stood clear. He had taken 
shelter behind the half-dozen archers, who 
looked with some approval and a good deal 
of indecision at this bold fugitive from justice. 

" On, then ! " cried the sacrist. " Shall 
he defy the authority of the Court, or shall 
one man hold six of you at bay ? Close in 
upon him and seize him. You, Baddlesmere, 
why do you hold back ? " 

The man in question, a tall, bushy-bearded 

fellow, clad like the others in green jerkin 
and breeches, with high brown boots, 
advanced slowly, sword in hand, against 
Nigel, His heart was not in the business, 
for these clerical courts were not popular, 
and everyone had a tender heart for the 
fallen fortunes of the house of Loring, and 
wished well to its young heir. 

" Come, young sir, you have caused scathe 
enough," said he. "Stand forth and give 
yourself up." 

" Come and fetch me, good fellow," said 
Nigel, with a dangerous smile. 

The archer ran in. There was a rasp of 
steel, a blade flickered like a swift dart of 
flame, and the man staggered back with 
blood running down his forearm and drip- 
ping from his fingers. He wrung them and 
growled a Saxon oath. 

" By the black rood of Bromeholm ! " he 
cried, " I had as soon put my hand down a 
fox's earth to drag up a vixen from her cubs." 

" Stand off," said Nigel, curtly. " I would 
not hurt you ; but, by St. Paul, I will not be 
handled, or someone will be hurt in the 

So fierce was his eye and so menacing his 
blade as he crouched in the narrow bay of 
the window that the little knot of archers 
were at a loss what to do. The Abbot hnd 
forced his way through the crowd, and stood, 
purpb with outraged dignity, at their side. 

" He is outside the law," said he. " He 
hath shed blood in a Court of Justice, and 
for such a sin there is no forgiveness. I will 
not have my Court so flouted and set at 
naught. He who draws the sword, by the 
sword also let him perish. Forester Hugh, 
lay a shaft to your bow." 

The man, who was one of the Abbey's lay- 
servants, put his weight upon his long-bow 
and slipped the loose end of the string into 
the upper notch. Then, drawing one of the 
terrible three-foot arrows, steel-tipped and 
gaudily winged, from his waist, he laid it to 
the string. 

" Now draw your bow and hold it ready," 
cried the furious Abbot. "Squire Nigel, it 
is not for Holy Church to shed blood, but 
there is naught but violence which will 
prevail against the violent, and on your head 
be the sin. Cast down the sword which you 
hold in your hand." 

" Will you give me freedom to leave your 

" When you have abided your sentence 
and purged your sin." 

*' Then I had rather die where I stand than 

giveup llf'MY OF MICHIGAN 


when ten knights, forty men-at -arms, and two 
hundred archers would march behind the 
scarlet roses. Now at this last rally, when 
the young head of the house lay bound in 
his own hall, there mustered at his call the 
page Charles with a cudgel, John the cook 
with his longest spit, Red Swire, the aged 
man-at-arms, with a formidable axe swung 
over his snowy head, and Weathercote the 
minstrel with a boar-spear. Yet this motley 
array was fired with the spirit of the house, 
and under the lead of the fierce old soldier 
they would certainly have flung themselves 
upon the ready swords of the archers, had 
the Lady Ermyntrude not swept between 

" Stand back, Swire ! " she cried. " Back, 
Weathercote ! Charles, put a leash on 
Talbot and hold Bayard back ! " Her black 
eyes blazed upon the invaders until they 
shrank from that baleful gaze. " Who are 
you, you rascal robbers, who dare to misuse 
the King's name, and to lay hands upon one 
whose smallest drop of blood has more worth 
than all your gross and caitiff bodies ? " 

44 Nay, not so fast, dame ; not so fast, I 
pray you ! " cried the stout summoner, whose 
face had resumed its natural colour now that 
he had a woman to deal with. 44 There is 
a law of England, mark you, and there are 
those who serve it and uphold it, who are 
the true men and the King's own lieges. 
Such a one am I. Then, again, there are 
those who take such as me and transfer, 
carry, or convey us into a bog or morass. 
Such a one is this graceless old man with the 
axe, whom I have seen already this day. 
There are also those who tear, destroy, or 
scatter the papers of the law, of which this 
young man is the chief. Therefore, I would 
rede you, dame, not to rail against us, but 
to understand that we are the King's men on 
the King's own service." 

" What, then, is your errand in this house 
at this hour of the night ? " 

The summoner cleared his throat pom- 
pously, and, turning his parchment to the 
light- of the cressets, he read out a long 
document in Norman-French, couched in 
such a style and such a language that the 
most involved and foolish of our forms are 
simplicity itself compared to those by which 
the men of the long gown made a mystery 
of that which of all things on earth should be 
the plainest and the most simple. Despair 
fell cold upon Nigel's heart and blanched the 
face of the old dame as they listened to the 
dread catalogue of claims and suits and 
issues, questions of i>eccary and turbary, of 

Voi. x**L— 2 

housebote and fire-bote, which ended by a 
demand for all the lands, hereditaments, 
tenements, messuages, and curtilages which 
made up their worldly all. 

Nigel, still bound, had been placed with 
his back against the iron coffer, whence he 
heard with dry lips and moist brow this 
doom of his house. Now he broke in on the 
recital with a vehemence which made the 
summoner jump. 

44 You shall rue what you have done this 
night," he cried. 44 Poor as we are, we have 
our friends who will not see us wronged, 
and I will plead my cause before the King's 
Own Majesty at Windsor, that he, who saw 
the father die, may know what things are 
done in his Royal name against the son. 
But these matters are to be settled in 
course of law in the King's courts, and how 
will you excuse yourself for this assault upon 
my house and person ? " 

44 Nay, that is another matter," said the 
sacrist. 44 The question of debt may indeed 
be an affair of a civil court. But it is a crime 
against the law and an act of the devil which 
comes within the jurisdiction of the Abbey 
Court of Waverley when you dare to lay 
hands upon the summoner or his papers." 

44 Indeed he speaks truth," cried the official. 
44 1 know no blacker sin." 

44 Therefore," said the stern monk, 44 it i> 
the order of the holy Father Abbot that you 
sleep this night in the Abbey cell, and that 
to-morrow you be brought before him at the 
court held in the chapter-house, so that you 
receive the fit punishment for this and the 
many other violent and froward deeds which 
you have wrought upon the servants of Holy 
Church. Enough is now said, worthy Master 
Summoner. Archers, remove your prisoner ! " 

As Nigel was lifted up by four stout archers 
the Dame Ermyntrude would have rushed to 
his aid, but the sacrist thrust her back. 

44 Stand off, proud woman ! Let the law 
take its course, and learn to humble your 
heart before the power of Holy Church. Has 
your life not taught its lesson — you, whose 
horn was exalted among the highest, and will 
soon not have a roof above your grey hairs ? 
Stand back, I say, lest I lay a curse above 
you ! " 

The old dame flamed suddenly into white 
wrath as she stood before the angry monk. 

44 Listen to me while I lay a curse upon 
you and yours," she cried, as she raised her 
shrivelled arms and blighted him with her 
flashing eyes. 4< As you have done to the 

house c i£)ri'dW9Kfr£ ma y ^ (Kl ^° to y° u ' 

u, 15te' ( isftf5^i^l , Arf rom thQ land ° r 



The formidable appearance of this ally, 
and his high reputation among his fellows, 
gave a further chill to the lukewarm ardour 
of the attack. Aylward's left arm was passed 
through his strung bow, and he was known 
from Woolmer Forest to the Weald as the 
quickest, surest archer that ever dropped a 
running deer at ten score paces. 

11 Nay, Baddlesmere, hold your fingers from 
your string-case, or I piay chance to give 
your drawing hand a two months' rest," said 
Aylward. " Swords, if you will, comrades ; 
but no man strings his tow till I have loosed 

Yet the angry hearts of both Abbot and 
sacrist rose higher with a fresh obstacle. 

"This is an ill day for your father, Franklin 
Aylward, who holds the tenancy of Crooks- 
bury," said the sacrist. " He will rue it that 
ever he begot a son who will lose him his 
acres and his steading." 

11 My father is a bold yeoman, and would 
rue it even more that ever his son should 
stand by while foul work was afoot," said 
Aylward, stoutly. " Fall on, comrades ! We 
are waiting." 

by promises of 
reward if they 
should fall in 
the service of 
the Abbey, 
and by threats 
of penalties if 
they should 
hold back, the 
four archers 
were about to 
close, when a 
singular inter- 
ruption gave 
an entirely new 
turn to the 

At the door 
of the chapter- 
house, whilst 
these fiery 
doings had 
been afoot, 
there had 
assembled a 
mixed crowd 
of lay-brothers, 
servants, and 
varlets, who 
had watched 
the develop- 
ment of the 


GQOgk ... 

drama with the interest and delight with 
which men hail a sudden break in a dull 
routine. Suddenly there was an agitation 
at the back of this group, then a swirl in 
the centre, and, finally, the front rank 
was violently thrust aside. Through the 
gap there emerged a strange and whimsical 
figure, who from the instant of his appear- 
ance dominated both chapter -house and 
Abbey, monks, prelates, and archers, as if he 
were their owner and their master. 

He was a man somewhat above middle 
age, with thin, lemon-coloured hair, a curling 
moustache, a tufted chin of the same hue, 
and a high, craggy face, all running to a great 
hook of a nose, like the beak of an eagle. 
His skin was tanned a brown red by much 
exposure to wind and sun. In height he 
was tall, and his figure was thin and loose- 
jointed, but stringy and hard-bitten. One 
eye was entirely covered by its lid, which lay 
flat over an empty socket, but the other 
danced and sparkled with a most roguish 
light, darting here and there with a twinkle 
of humour and criticism and intelligence, the 
whole fire of his soul bursting 
through that one narrow cranny. 

His dress 
was as note- 
worthy as his 
person. A rich 
purple doublet 
and cloak was 
marked on the 
lapels with a 
strange scarlet 
device shaped 
like a wedge. 
Costly lace 
hung round 
his shoulders, 
and amid its 
soft folds there 
the dull red of 
a heavy golden 
chain. A 
knight's belt at 
his waist and 
a knight's 
golden spurs 
twinkling from 
his doeskin 
proclaimed his 
rank, and on 
the wrist of his 
left gauntlet 




demure little hooded falcon, of a breed 
which in itself was a mark of the dignity 
of the owner. Of weapons he had none, 
but a mandoline was slung by a black 
silken band over his back, and the high 
brown end projected above his shoulder. 
Such was the man — quaint, critical, masterful, 
with a touch of what is formidable behind 
it all — who now surveyed the opposing groups 
of armed men and angry monks with an eye 
which commanded their attention. 

" Excusez ! " said he, in a lisping French. 
" Excusez, mes amis ! I had thought to arouse 
you from prayer or meditation, but never 
have I seen such a holy exercise as this under 
an Abbey's roof, with swords for breviaries 
and archers for acolytes. I fear that I have 
come amiss, and yet I ride on an errand from 
one who permits no delay." 

The Abbot, and possibly the sacrist also, 
had begun to realize that events had gone a 
very great deal farther than they had intended, 
and that without an extreme scandal it was 
no easy matter for them to save their dignity 
and the good name of Waverley. Therefore, 
in spite of the debonair, not to say dis- 
respectful, bearing of the new-comer, they 
rejoiced at his appearance and intervention. 

" I am the Abbot of Waverley, fair son," 
said the prelate. " If your message deal 
with a public matter it may be fitly repeated 
in the chapter-house ; if not I will give you 
audience in my own chamber, for it is clear 
to me that you are a gentleman of blood and 
coat-armour who would not lightly break in 
upon the business of our court — a business 
which, as you have remarked, is little wel- 
come to men of peace like myself and the 
brethren of the rule of St. Bernard." 

" Pardieu, lather Abbot ! " said the 
stranger. " One had but to glance at you 
and your men to see that the business was, 
indeed, little to your taste, and it may be 
even less so when 1 say that rather than see 
this young person in the window, who hath 
a noble bearing, further molested by these 
archers, I will myself adventure my person 
on his behalf." 

The Abbot's smile turned to a frown at 
these frank words. 

"It would become you better, sir, to 
deliver the message of which you say that 
you are the bearer, than to uphold a 
prisoner against the rightful judgment of 
a Court." 

The stranger swept the court with his 
questioning eye. 

" The message is not for you, good Father 
Abbot It is for one whom I know not, I 

Vol. xxxl— 3. 

have been to his house and they have sent 
me hither. The name is Nigel Loring." 

" It is for me, fair sir." 

" I had thought as much. I knew your 
father, Eustace Loring, and though he would 
have made two of you, yet he has left his 
stamp plain enough upon your face." 

" You know not the truth of this matter," 
said the Abbot. "If you are a loyal man 
you will stand aside, for this young man hath 
grievously offended against the law, and it is 
for the King's lieges to give us their support." 

" And you have haled him up for 
judgment," cried the stranger, with much 
amusement. " It is as though a rookery sat 
in judgment upon a falcon. I warrant that 
you have found it easier to judge than to 
punish. Let me tell you, Father Abbot, that 
this standeth not aright. When powers such 
as these were given to the like of you, they 
were given that you might check a brawling 
underling or correct a drunken woodman, and 
not that you might drag the best blood in 
England to your bar, and set your archers on 
him if he questioned your findings." 

The Abbot was little used to hear such 
words of reproof uttered in so stern a voice 
under his own Abbey roof and before his 
listening monks. 

" You may perchance find that an Abbey 
Court has more powers than you wot of, Sir 
Knight," said he — "if knight indeed you be 
who are so uncourteous and short in your 
speech. Ere we go farther I would ask your 
name and style ? " 

The stranger laughed. 

" It is easy to see that you are indeed men 
of peace," said he, proudly. " Had I shown 
this sign " — and he touched the tokens upon 
his lapels — "whether on shield or pennon, 
in the marches of France or Scotland, there 
is not a cavalier but would have known the 
red pile of Chandos." 

Chandos, John Chandos, the flower of 
English chivalry, the pink of knight-errantry, 
the hero already of fifty desperate enter- 
prises, a name known and honoured from 
end to end of Europe ! Nigel gazed at him 
as one who sees a vision. The archers stood 
back abashed, while the monks crowded 
closer to stare at the famous soldier of the 
French w r ars. The Abbot abated his tone 
and a smile came to his angry face. 

" We are indeed men of peace, Sir John, 
and little skilled in warlike blazonry," said 
he, " yet stout as are our Abbey walls, they 
are not so thick that the fame of your 
exploits has not oassed through them and 

reac ^Efi#irfcMtr rpleasure to 



take an interest in this young and misguided 
squire it is not for us to thwart your kind inten- 
tion or to withhold such grace as you request. 
I am glad indeed that he hath one who can 
set him so fair an example for a friend." 

11 1 thank you for your courtesy, good 
Father Abbot," said Chandos, carelessly. 
"This young squire has, however, a better 
friend than myself, one who is kinder to those 

14 and yet I hope that he is one who can 
relish a soldier's fare and sleep under a 
humble roof, for, indeed, we can but give 
our best, pour as it is," 

44 He is indeed a soldier, and a good one," 
Chandos answered, laughing, " and I warrant 
he has slept in rougher quarters than Tilford 

" I have few friends, fair sir," said Nigel, 


he loves and more terrible to those he hates. 
It is from him I bear a message." 

11 1 pray you, fair and honoured sir," said 
Nigel, "that you will tell me what is the 
message that you bear." 

" The message, mon ami, is that your 
friend comes into these parts and would 
have a night's lodging at the manor-house 
of Tilford for the love and respect that he 
bears your family." 

" Nay, he is most welcome," said Nigel ; 

with a puzzled face. " I pray you give me 
this gentleman's name." 

" His name is Edward." 

" Sir Edward Mortimer of Kent, perchance, 
or is it Sir Edward Brocas, of whom the Lady 
Ermyntrude talks ? " 

" Nay, he is known as Edward only, and if 
you ask a second name it is Plantagenet, for 
he who comes to seek the shelter of your 
roof is your liege lord and mine, the King's 
High Majesty, Edward of England." 




Fire at Sea. 
By Lawrence Perry. 

OMETIMES a vessel comes in 
from sea with a tale of fire 
and death that brings the 
quick breath from even the 
most hardened. 

One winter night, a few years 
ago, First Officer Nelson, standing his watch on 
the swaying bridge of the British tramp Hector^ 
rolling her way through the heavy midnight 
seas from Liverpool for New York, saw away 
off on the horizon a flare of light A lance- 
like pillar of flame it was, the top of which 
was torn off by the wind when it reached 
its height and carried across the heavens for 
several hundred feet. Then the light faded 
away, and the darkness which had framed 
the spectacle seemed more intense than ever. 
But only for a second. For as Nelson strained 
his eyes to pierce the blackness, a red glow 
began to rise out of the sea. Steadily it grew 
in stature and in intensity, until the sea was 
no longer dark — until the skies glowed like a 
furnace door. 

The cry of " Fire " rang through the wallow- 
ing tramp, carrying with it all the emotions 
which that cry ever arouses in those who fare 
upon the deep. 

The course of the Hector was altered to 
the southward, and in the space of an hour 

she was within several hundred yards of the 
burning vessel, the oil-ship Loodiana. She 
was on fire from stem to stern. Great gusts 
of flame were rolling out amidships and being 
hurled high in .the air. The masts were 
fiery pillars, and the water on all sides was 
filled with floating masses of burning oil. The 
crew of the Hector gathered in the bow. It 
was an interesting, a picturesque, a magnifi- 
cent spectacle — until one of the crew gave a 
sharp cry and stretched out his arm in the 
direction of the bow. Then the scene was 
changed from the picturesque to the frightful. 
Following the line of his arm, every eye 
made out two figures crouched under the 
bowsprit, standing on the bobstay— a man 
and a woman. The man's arms were about 
the woman. He was shielding her as best 
he might from the heat and the flames. 

A high wind was blowing, fortunately bow 
on, which tended to retard the forward 
advance of the flames. But as the crew 
stood watching with dazed fascination, the 
oil-ship yawed and a great rush of flames 
licked greedily at the two figures. Then the 
vessel rounded to again and the flames were 
beaten back — two elements, one fighting 
to save -v!ifek_ _ the_ other to destroy it. 

Again the vessel fell off, and again the 




flames reached out for their prey, and 
again were they beaten back. In frenzy the 
captain of the tramp called for volunteers to 
lower a boat, and, in spite of the raging 
winter sea and the gale and the burning oil, 
the crew responded to a man. The three 
officers were selected and two of the seamen. 
But as they rushed to man the falls a shout 
from the rest of the crew brought them to 

sea in no less degree than his brother ashore. 
It was especially marked on board the 
Marpesia, chiefly because the good Scandi- 
navian skipper proposed to celebrate the 
joyous season in accordance with all the 
pleasant traditions of his race. There w T as to 
be a feast for one thing, and the chanteymen 
had organized a chorus ; it was to be a good 
day, and the seamen hauled at the braces or 

from a Photo. by\ 


[Georgt K. Seymour. 

the rail. The end of the tragedy was at 
hand. With a rush and a roar the flames 
covered the bow, they burst from all sections 
of the forepeak, they ran out along the bow- 
sprit, they shrouded the two figures, which 
disappeared for a second. Then they 
appeared again, this time cleaving the red 
glare and sinking in the waters. 

That was all. The Hector came to New 
York and the captain gave out the above 
report. The underwriters paid their loss. 
The tragedy was closed. 

Ideal North Atlantic Christmas weather. 
The sky was a cold, even grey, there were 
high combing head seas, and the wind 
whipped flurries of snow against the sails and 
through the rigging of the great four-masted 
ship Marpe$ia y bound from New York for 
Cette, naphtha laden. 

Captain Jensen smiled as he bent over his 
log to record the seasonable Yule-tide con- 
ditions; for the holiday spirit thrills Jacl^lat. 

shifted sails with right good will, and laughed 
and joked in happy anticipation. 

Strange it was that death should have 
taken its toll of the Marpesia on Christmas 
Day. The starboard watch, eleven men, 
went below shortly after daybreak — they were 
never to come up again alive— and their 
comrades worked merrily above. 

The morning waned. The boatswain was 
about to pipe all hands on deck when sud- 
denly a sort of a quiver ran through the ship. 
There was a low rumbling — low at first, but 
rapidly increasing in intensity, and then a 
pause, broken suddenly by a frightful roar. 
Beginning a few feet in front of the main- 
mast, the entire forward section of the Mar- 
pesia — foremast, decks, cargo, and interior 
fittings — shot a hundred feet in the air, and 
against the red background that framed them 
could be seen the forms of the starboard watch. 
The debris rained into the sea, and then, 
sweeping aft, <&lfihiili roaring wall of flame. 



Fed by the terrible naphtha, the flames 
belched upward with a ferocity and volume 
that gave not the slightest doubt of the 
futility of combating them. Literally, they 
were devouring the vessel as though it were 
made of cardboard. And yet there was no 
alternative but to fight— the small boats had 
gone up with the forward section, and it was 
too rough to think of launching a raft. Then, 
too, it is a part of a sailor's instinct to fight 
for his vessel to the last foothold, and so the 
survivors rigged lines of hose and poured 
pitiful streams into the fiery crater with as 
little effect as though the water was so much 
air. Step by step the men were forced back, 
until at the last they were obliged to drop 
their hose and run as far aft as they could go. 
It was quickly seen that if the vessel were 
to last half an hour her head must be thrown 
off the wind, the flames in her present 
position being fanned sternwards. Captain 

could get, waiting the turn of Fate with the 
stolidity of men accustomed to danger in 
every form. A merciful vessel might come 
to the rescue — but on all the horizon not a 
sail, not a string of smoke, was seen. It was 
but a faint hope, and the evil possibilities 
greatly outnumbered the hopeful ones. 

Twelve hours the crew stayed behind the 
little house on the poop deck and watched 
the devouring element advance upon fhem 
foot by foot. By nightfall it had worked 
past the midship section. At times red 
tongues almost licked their faces. The 
smoke, too, was stifling, and the flames 
mounting skyward were so furious that there 
was no darkness within two miles of the ship. 

Before dawn the heat was so intense that 
any place on the vessel was untenable, and 
so the sailors, with hair singeing and faces 
and hands blistering, set to work building 
a plank extension out over the stern. 


From a Photo, by George K. Seymour. 

Jensen called for volunteers to go to the 
main and mizzen braces and haul the yards 
in such a position as to enable him to wear 
ship — in other words, to bring the wind over 
the stern. The flames were spurting down 
the rail every second, but with one accord 
the crew left shelter and sprang to their 
posts, working in the fierce heat until the 
Marpesia finally fell off. 

Thus she hung with her stern to the wind 
while the seamen crouched as far aft as they 

Thirty feet out they built it, and erected 
thereon small shields for protection from 
the heat and the flame puffs. Here they 
stayed three hours, moving back foot by 
foot while the mizzenmast went up in a tall 
column of fire — the mainmast had long 
gone— and crashed outside. Back, back 
moved the crew until they lay with heads 
hanging over the edge of the platform. 
Another explosion shook what remained of 
the Marpesia, The fire bridged the last gap : 




it licked up the platform. But as it did so 
the Danish steamship Gallia broke through 
the outer wall of darkness and rolled into the 
light-radius, not a second too soon. One by 
one, with clothing in flames, the men leaped 

or wind-jammer. But the records show 
that they are more frequent, or at least 
more deadly, on oil-laden craft. There are 
two types of oil - carriers : the full - rigged 
ships and barques, both of which carry oil in 

Prom a Photograph. 

into the sea, and there they fought for life 
until small boats from the succouring steam- 
ship picked them up. 

And so that was the end of the good ship 
Marpesia and of her starboard watch. The 
seventeen survivors were landed at Bermuda 
and shipped thence to New York. No 
doubt they are now serving on other oil-ships, 
for oil-ship sailors take into account just such 
things as happened to the Marpesia on 
Christmas Day. It is one of the risks of 
the trade ; and, of course, every trade has its 
special dangers. J 

Last spring the steamship Luckenback, laden 
with oil in bulk, and a crew of twenty-seven 
men, set out from Sabine Pass, Texas, for New 
York City. She never reached her destina- 
tion. She was never spoken by any vessel, 
and not a splinter of her, nor a sign of her 
crew, was ever found to give hint as to her 
fate. Shipping circles had but one comment 
— fire. Certainly ; when an oil-ship does not 
come home, then there is but one logical 

Fire is frequent on all vessels, from the 
proudest greyhound to the humblest tramp, 

cases, and the tank steamships, which carry 
oil in bulk. It might be remarked that the 
word "oil "'is used in a generic sense, and 
may mean petroleum, naphtha, or other 
liquids of kindred nature. In the old 
pioneer days of carrying oil in bulk, tank 
steamships went up in puffs of flame with 
alarming frequency. Generating gases would 
cause an explosion, as was the case with the 
Marpesia, or a trickle of oil would leak 
through the tank compartments into the 
engine-room. In either case the complete 
destruction of the vessel was a question of 
but a short time. 

In these days of porcelain tanks, improved 
bulkheads, and patent valves, which allow 
gases to escape without harm to the vessel, 
oil-carrying steamships are not so liable to 
destruction ; but still these improvements 
did not save the Luckenback, which was on 
her maiden trip at the time of her disap- 

The last oil-ship to burn in the vicinity 
of the Middle Atlantic coast was the Com- 
modore T H. Alien, which took fire ofif Fire 
Island on t£ r Htffittifr>; 


flPflP July 8th, iqoi. 




She had seventy-five thousand cases of crude 
oil aboard, and the glow of the flames could 
be seen in New York City. She did not 
last very long, and even to-day parts of her 
charred bones wash up on the island beach 
in a north-east storm. Just previous to the 
loss of the Allen, the oil-ship Ariadne was 
destroyed at about the same place. She was 
a beautiful sight as she made past Fire Island 
with every sail bellying, and the marine 
observers watched her with admiration until 
they saw a sudden puff of smoke shoot up 
from the midship section. The next instant, 
before their very eyes, the upper deck and 
masts and sails flew high in the air and a heavy 
boom floated over the waters. Four days 
and four nights the Ariadne lay heaving on 
the water, as tier after tier of case oil burned 
or exploded, and on the fifth day with a 
hissing plunge she disappeared. 

Cotton laden steamships are also the bane 
of the marine insurance underwriters, who 
pay losses on them month by month. 
Bound up the coast from southern ports, 
or lying in dock in northern cities with the 
cotton still in their holds, fire breaks out 
in these steamships suddenly and mysteri- 
ously, causing thousands of dollars' damage 
and sometimes loss of life. As a rule fires 
on cotton-vessels cannot be accounted for 
save on the basis of spontaneous combus- 
tion, a rather unsatisfactory accounting, to 
say the least And, worse still, a large per- 
centage of cotton-fires cannot be success- 
fully combated. That is to say, they cannot 
be quenched before a great deal of the 
cargo has been involved in the flames. 
Usually when in port the captain solves the 
problem of putting out the flames by 
scuttling his vessel. Of course, that is abso- 
lutely sure, but it involves the expense of 
raising the liner in addition to paying for the 
damage by fire. Steam is being used now 
with good results in fighting fires on these 
cotton-steamships. When flames are dis- 
covered the hatches are battened down to 
prevent draught, the crew called to quarters, 
and huge lengths of hose are lowered 
through deck openings designed for this very 
purpose. The other ends are attached to 
the boilers, and then steam is forced into the 
blazing hold. This method is now con- 
sidered much more effective than the use of 
water for killing a fire, if only for the reason 
that the hot vapour penetrates every nook 
vmI cranny, reaching places where water does 
not go. 

If the fire is discovered before the flames 
have involved too large a portion of the cargo 

the steam treatment is invariably successful. 
Sometimes, too, when the blaze is confined 
to just one section of the hold, the captain 
will open a stop-cock and flood the compart- 
ment, even at sea. This naturally solves the 
fire question with swiftness and aplomb. 
But if the bulkhead happens to be weak the 
terrific pressure of the water which has been 
allowed to fill the compartment may break it. 
Then me vessel hunts the bottom without 
delay. It follows, therefore, that a captain 
does not resort to this extreme method 
unless he is reasonably certain as to the 
structural strength of his craft. In harbours, 
however, where shoals are plentiful, no 
captain hesitates to fill his vessel chock-full 
of water if the flames are defying the efforts 
of the crew. For wet cotton will dry, 
whereas burned cotton represents total loss. 

No doubt spontaneous conbustion really 
is a frequent cause of these fires aboard 
cotton-ships, but the fact remains that this 
explanation sometimes covers a multitude of 
sins of omission and commission on the part 
of the officers, of the crew, or of those who 
handle the cargo. A bunch of oily waste 
left lying about, matches, sparks from pipes, 
anything, however infinitesimal, serves to set 
cotton smouldering and finally blazing. Or 
the fire may have had its inception on a 
southern pier some days before it was dis- 
covered in the hold of a vessel. The 
bales are piled up on the piers at the 
cotton ports, and the negro roustabouts, 
knocking off at noon, lounge about on the 
pier smoking their pipes. Perchance a small 
spark flies into a bale. It need be only a 
very tiny spark. But it has all the harmful 
effects on this bale that a disease germ has 
on the human body. Down among the bales 
piled in the bottom of the hold this little 
spark smoulders and eats its way, growing 
larger every day. In the meantime the steam- 
ship is ploughing her way up the coast. The 
spark still works, the bale becomes a smoulder- 
ing mass. The heat increases, other bales are 
involved, and a fierce flame fills the hold. 
Thick smoke pours out through the cracks 
in the deck, and then follows a fight for 
life as the captain races his vessel for port ; 
the crew working like beavers, the passengers 
huddled in the cabins or on deck, a prey to 
fears hitherto unfelt. 

Fire occurs frequently in coal bunkers of 
vessels. Spontaneous combustion is usually, 
in fact invariably, the cause, and the flames 
are fierce and difficult to combat. As a rule, 
though, the structural condition of the 
bunk^.^^§^ |(? ^erially in their 





From a Photograph. 

efforts to confine the flames. Naval vessels, 
battleships and the like, are always having 
fires in their bunkers, but little harm ever 
results, if the loss of a certain amount of coal 
be excepted, and the jackies are prone to 
regard such emergencies in the light of 
welcome diversions. 

So far as the big greyhounds are con- 
cerned, there is little to fear from fire in the 
ordinary run of things. One reason is that 
they carry light cargoes, which, as a rule, are 
not of an especially inflammable nature, and 
at the same time the system of steel com- 


partments, watertight, and therefore firetight 
— to coin a word — renders it an easy matter 
to confine a fire. 

It is good that such is the case, for the 
greyhounds are not at all immune from fire, 
the most recent evidence to strengthen that 
statement being the fire which occurred last 
May in the hold of the Majestic 

Two or three years ago the North German 
Lloyd liner Barbarossa left Hoboken with a 
full complement of passengers and her 
capacious holds groaning with freight. She 
had barely cleared the bar when fire was 



reported in one of the forward sections. 
With a great, wide sweep, the captain swung 
his craft about and headed for Hoboken. 
The wondering passengers, most of whom 
were on deck taking their good-bye looks at 
America, were, of course, startled, but no 
information was vouchsafed them, and they 
were in total ignorance of the real conditions 
until the vessel arrived off Quarantine, when 
thick clouds of smoke burst out of the forward 
deck openings. She was docked at her 
Hoboken pier, her passengers debarked, and 
the flames subdued after a long, hard fight. 
The Barbarossds trip to Bremen was 
indefinitely deferred. 

On all the German vessels they make a 
great point of their fire drills, and passengers 
never know when they are to be startled by 
a rush of the crew to quarters. One Sunday 
morning in the late nineties, just after Divine 
service, the captain of one of the crack 
Mediterranean liners received word that 
there was a fire among some tanks of linseed 
oil in the hold. The captain, a man of 
resource, called to his side a passenger 
whom he knew, who had crossed with him 
a number of times, and upon whom he 
could depend. 

" Mr. G ," said the captain, " I wish 

you would stand down here on the deck, 
among the passengers, and call up to me on 
tlie bridge, requesting a fire drill. There is a 
nasty fire in the hold, and I do not want to 
start a panic. I hope to be able to extinguish 
it without any knowledge on the part of the 
passengers that we have been in danger." 

" Mr. G " accordingly called to the cap- 
tain, requesting the fire drill, an appeal, by 
the way, in which all the ennuied passengers 
joined In granting it the commander leaped 
down from the bridge and ordered general 
quarters sounded. The passengers stood 
about the after hatch watching with great 
delight the manoeuvres of the crew as they 
formed on deck and then dashed down the 
various companion-ways into the hold ; but 
their delight was somewhat tinctured a bit 
later when they began to carry unconscious 
sailors from below, laying them along the 
deck. It gave them their first hint of the real 
situation. Finally, the captain himself was 
carried up unconscious. For six long hours a 
desperate fight was maintained in mid-ocean, 
and there were times when the officers were 
about to give the word to lower the boats, 
into which*, indeed, the women and children 
had previously been ordered. Eventually, 
however, the flames were beaten back and 
finally extinguished. This fire, if memory 

Vol. xxx'u — 4» 

serves, occurring on board the Lahn, was 
one of the few times when great numbers of 
passengers of the first class have been in real 
danger from fire on a modern greyhound. 

On the morning of May 9th, 1897, before 
the dawn had broken, the officer of the 
deck of the Mallory line steamship Leona, 
bound up the coast to New York, detected 
the odour of smoke. He investigated, and 
found the forward hold — filled with cotton — 
a veritable furnace of flames. The alarm 
was sounded, and the crew were quickly at 
their posts. Quick as they were, however, 
they were too late to head off the fire from 
the steerage, in which were sleeping some 
dozen men and women as well as three of 
the crew. The screams of the victims could 
be heard, once they were aroused to a sense 
of their peril. But they were as rats in a 
trap, and the only opening led into the heart 
of the fire. Volunteers were called upon to 
go to the rescue, and, as is ever the case in 
time of danger at sea, there was t\o lack of 
response. But all efforts to save the doomed 
men and women were futile. The flames 
roared about the compartment, and finally 
the cries were stilled. All hope of saving 
life having gone, the officers and crew gave 
their attention to the salvation of the steam- 
ship and to the surviving passengers, who 
behaved with the utmost coolness and assisted 
the crew in their fight against the flames. 

At the height of the fire the City of Augusta 
came up and took off the passengers, the crew 
refusing to desert their vessel. 

One Sunday morning in the summer of 
1 90 1, paints and oils in the forward hold of 
the United States gunboat Petrel, steaming 
off the Philippine Islands, suddenly burst 
into flames. A score of sailors-leaped down 
into the hold with lines of hose, but they 
were speedily overcome in the dark inferno. 
Other sailors went down and rescued them 
by knotting ropes about the prostrate men. 
The rescuers then succumbed, and other 
sailors descended to rescue them. In the 
course of half an hour three-quarters of the 
crew were stretched out on the deck uncon- 
scious. Commander Jesse M. Roper, rising 
from a sick bed, insisted upon leading his men 
in the fight and perished in the hold, his body 
being rescued from the flames by Lieutenant 
McKeown. The flames were extinguished 
after a figh^that lasted well into the afternoon. 

Romance enough in that, it would seem, 
to silence all those who prate of the har- 
nessed ocean, of the prosaic age of steam, of 
the waning of the old-time sea thrill, and 



"\^ '^^c9fi]<g®lg>§ 

ARMER ROSE sat in his 
porch smoking an evening 
pipe. By his side, in a com- 
fortable Windsor chair, sat his 
friend the miller, also smoking, 
and gazing with halfclosed 
eyes at the landscape as he listened for the 
thousandth time to his host's complaints 
about his daughter. 

" The long and the short of it is, Cray," 
said the farmer, with an air of mournful 
pride, " she's far too good-looking." 

Mr. Cray grunted. 

"Truth is truth, though she's my daugh- 
ter," continued Mr. Rose, vaguely. "She's 
too good-looking. Sometimes when I've 
taken her up to market I've seen the folks 
fair turn their backs on the cattle and stare 
at her instead." 

Mr, Cray sniffed ; louder, perhaps, than he 
had intended. " Beautiful that rose-bush 
smells," he remarked, as his friend turned and 
eyed him. 

" What is the consequence ? " demanded the 
farmer, relaxing his gaze. " She looks in the 
glass and sees herself, and then she gets miser- 
able and uppish because there ain't nobody in 
these parts good enough for her to marry." 

" It's a extraordinary thing to me where 
she gets them good looks from," said the 
miller, deliberately. 

Copyright t 1906, by W, W. Jacobs, 

" Ah ! " said Mr. Rose, and sat trying to 
think of a means of enlightening his friend 
without undue loss of modesty. 

" She ain't a bit like her poor mother," 
mused Mr. Cray. 

" No, she don't get her looks from her," 
assented the other. 

11 It's one o' them things you can't account 
for," said Mr. Cray, who was very tired of 
the subject ; " it's just like seeing a beautiful 
flower blooming on an old cabbage-sturnp." 

The farmer knocked his pipe out noisily 
and began to refill it. " People have said 
that she takes after me a trifle," he remarked, 

11 You weren't fool enough to believe that, 
I know," said the miller. " Why, she's no 
more like you than you're like a warming- 
pan — not so much." 

Mr. Rose regarded his friend fixedly. 
" You ain't got a very nice way o' putting 
things, Cray," he said, mournfully. 

11 I'm no flatterer," said the miller; "never 
was. And you can't please everybody. If 
I said your daughter took after you I don't 
s'pose she'd ever speak to me again." 

" The worst of it is," said the farmer, dis- 
regarding this remark, " she won't settle down. 
There's young Walter Lomas after her now, 
and she won't look at him. He's a decent 
young fellow is W.aJier, and she's been and 

in the Un W j^ ffi ^ 9iF a M | CH | GAN 



named one o' the pigs after him, and the way 
she mixes them up together is disgraceful." 

11 If she was my girl she should marry 
young Walter," said the miller, firmly. 
11 What's wrong with him ? " 

" She looks higher," replied the other, 
mysteriously ; " she's always reading them 
romantic books full o' love tales, and she's 
never tired o' talking of a girl her mother 
used to know that went on the stage and 
married a baronet She goes and sits in the 
best parlour every afternoon now, and calls 
it the drawing-room. She'll sit there till she's 
past the marrying age, and then shell turn 
round and blame me." 

11 She wants a lesson," said Mr. Cray, 
firmly. u She wants to be taught her posi- 
tion in life, not to go about turning up her 
nose at young men and naming pigs after 

Mr. Rose sighed. 

11 What she wants to understand is that 
the upper classes wouldn't look at her," 
pursued the miller. 

11 It would be easier to make her under- 
stand that if they didn't," said the farmer. 

Mr. Rose withdrew his pipe and regarded 
him open-mouthed. 

" Yes ; but how " he began, 

"And it seems to me," interrupted Mr. 
Cray, "that I know just the young fellow to 
do it— nephew of my wife's. He was coming 
to stay a fortnight with us, but you can have 
him with pleasure— me and him don't get on 
over and above well." 

" Perhaps he wouldn't do it," objected the 

11 He'd do it like a shot," said Mr. Cray, 
positively. " It would be fun for us and it 
'ud be a lesson for her. If you like, I'll 
tell him to write to you for lodgings, as he 
wants to come for a fortnight's fresh air after 
the fatiguing gaieties of town." 

" Fatiguing gaieties of town," repeated the 
admiring farmer. " Fatiguing — — " 

He sat back in his chair and laughed, and 
Mr, Cray, delighted at the prospect of getting 
rid so easily of a tiresome guest, laughed too. 
Overhead at the open window a third person 
laughed, but in so quiet and well-bred a 
fashion that neither of them heard her. 

The farmer received a letter a day or two 


11 1 mean," said Mr. Cray, sternly, " with a 
view to marriage. What you ought to do is 
to get somebody staying down here with you 
pretending to be a lord or a nobleman, and 
ordering her about and not noticing her good 
looks at all. Then, while she's upset about 
that, in comes Walter Lomas to comfort her 
and be a contrast to the other." 

afterwards, and negotiations between Jane 
Rose on the one side and Lord Fairmount on 
the other were soon in progress ; the farmer's 
own composition being deemed somewhat 
crude for such a correspondence. 

"I wish he didn't want it kept so secret," 
said Miss Rose, pondering over the final 

^Eftlif e^feff 1 the Crays and 



one or two more people know he is staying 
with us. However, I suppose he must have 
his own way," 

11 You must do as he wishes," said her 
father, using his handkerchief violently. 

Jane sighed. " He'll be a little company 
for me, at any rate/' she remarked. "What 
is the matter, father?" 

11 Bit of a cold," said the farmer, indis- 
tinctly, as he made for the door, still holding 
his handkerchief to his face. " Been coming 
on some time." 

He put on his hat and went out, and Miss 
Rose, watching him from the window, was not 

Then he walked slowly into the kitchen. 
Miss Rose called out something after him. 

"Eh?" said her father, coming back hope- 

" How is your cold, dear?" 

The farmer made no reply, and his 
daughter smiled contentedly as she heard 
him stamping about in the larder. He made 
but a poor meal, and then, refusing point- 
blank to assist Annie in moving the piano, 
went and smoked a very reflective pipe in 
the garden. 

Lord Fairmount arrived the following day 
on foot from the station, and after acknow- 


without fears that the joke might prove too 
much for a man of his habit. She regarded 
him thoughtfully, and when he returned at 
one o'clock to dinner, and encountered 
instead a violent dust-storm which was 
raging in the house, she noted with pleasure 
that his sense of humour was more under 

" Dinner ? " she said, as he strove to squeeze 
past the furniture which was piled in the 
hall. " We've got no time to think of dinner, 
and if we had there's no place for you to eat 
it. You'd better go in the larder and cut 
yourself a crust of bread and cheese." 

Her father hesitated and glared at the 
servant, who, with her head bound up in a 
duster, passed at the double with 

, a broom. 

ledging the farmer's salute with a distant nod 
requested him to send a cart for his luggage. 
He was a tall, good-looking young man, and 
as he stood in the hall languidly twisting his 
moustache Miss Rose deliberately decided 
upon his destruction. 

" These your daughters ? ' he inquired, 
carelessly, as he followed his host into the 

11 One of 'em is, my lord ; the other is my 
servant," replied the farmer. 

" She's got your eyes," said his lordship, 
tapping the astonished Annie under the chin ; 
"your nose too, I think." 

"That's my servant," said the farmer, 
knitting his brows at him. 

"Oh, inddetticmWirffiiiilordship, airily. 



He turned round and regarded Jane, but, 
although she tried to meet him half-way by 
elevating her chin a little, his audacity failed 
him and the words died away on his tongue. 
A long silence followed, broken only by the 
ill-suppressed giggles of Annie, who had 
retired to the kitchen. 

" I trust that we shall make your lordship 
comfortable," said Miss Rose. 

" I hope so, my good girl," was the reply. 
" And now will you show me my room ? " 

Miss Rose led the way upstairs and threw 
open the door ; Lord Fairmount, pausing on 
the threshold, gazed at it disparagingly. 

"Is this the best room you have?" he 
inquired, stiffly. 

"Oh, no," said Miss Rose, smiling; "father's 
room is much better than this. Look here." 

She threw open another door and, ignor- 
ing a gesticulating figure which stood in the 
hall below, regarded him anxiously. " If 
you would prefer father's room he would be 
delighted for you to have it. Delighted." 

" Yes, I will have this one," said Lord 
Fairmount, entering. " Bring me up some 
hot water, please, and clear these boots and 
leggings out." 

Miss Rose tripped downstairs and, bestow- 
ing a witching smile upon her sire, waved 
away his request for an explanation and 
hastened into the kitchen, whence Annie 
shortly afterwards emerged with the water. 

It was with something of a shock that the 
farmer discovered that he had to wait for his 
dinner while his lordship had luncheon. 
That meal, under his daughter's management, 
took a long time, and the joint when it 
reached him was more than half cold. It 
was, moreover, quite clear that the aristocracy 
had not even mastered the rudiments of 
carving, but preferred instead to box the 
compass for tit-bits. 

He ate his meal in silence, and when it 
was over sought out his guest to administer 
a few much-needed stage-directions. Owing, 
however, to the ubiquity of Jane he wasted 
nearly the whole of the afternoon before he 
obtained an opportunity. Even then the 
interview was short, the farmer having to 
compress into ten seconds instructions for 
Lord Fairmount to express a desire to take 
his meals with the family, and his dinner at 
the respectable hour of 1 p.m. Instructions 
as to a change of bedroom were frustrated 
by the re-appearance of Jane. 

His lordship went for a walk after that, and 
coming back with a bored air stood on the 
hearthrug in the living-room and watched 
Miss Rose sewing. 

" Very dull place," he said at last, in a 
dissatisfied voice. 

"Yes, my lord," said Miss Rose, demurely. 

" Fearfully dull," complained his lordship, 
stifling a yawn. " What Fm to do to amuse 
myself for a fortnight Fm sure I don't 

Miss Rose raised her fine eyes and 
regarded him intently. Many a lesser man 
would have looked no farther for amusement. 

" Fm afraid there is not much to do about 
here, my lord," she said, quietly. " We are 
very plain folk in these parts." 

"Yes," assented the other. An obvious 
compliment rose of itself to his lips, but he 
restrained himself, though with difficulty. 
Miss Rose bent her head over her work 
and stitched industriously. His lordship 
took up a book and, remembering his mission, 
read for a couple of hours without taking the 
slightest notice of her. Miss Rose glanced 
over in his direction once or twice, and then, 
with a somewhat vixenish expression on her 
delicate features, resumed her sewing. 

"Wonderful eyes she's got," said the 
gentleman, as he sat on the edge of his bed 
that night and thought over the events of the 
day. " It's pretty to see them flash." 

He saw them flash several times during the 
next few days, and Mr. Rose himself was 
more than satisfied with the hauteur with 
which his guest treated the household. 

" But I don't like the way you have with 
me," he complained. 

" It's all in the part," urged his lordship. 

"Well, you can leave that part out," re- 
joined Mr. Rose, with some acerbity. " I 
object to being spoke to as you speak to me 
before that girl Annie. Be as proud and 
unpleasant as you like to my daughter, but 
leave me alone. Mind that ! " 

His lordship promised, and in pursuance 
of his host's instructions strove manfully to 
subdue feelings towards Miss Rose by no 
means in accordance with them. The best 
of us are liable to absent-mindedness, and 
he sometimes so far forgot himself as to 
address her in tones as humble as any in her 
somewhat large experience. 

" I hope that we are making you com- 
fortable here, my lord ? " she said, as they 
sat together one afternoon. 

" I have never been more comfortable in 
my life," was the gracious reply. 

Miss Rose shook her head. " Oh, my 
lord," she said, in protest, " think of your 

His lordship thought of it. For two or 


thinking of houses 




of that 

and furniture and other 

" I have never seen an old country seat/' 
continued Miss Rose, clasping her hands and 
gazing at him wistfully. " I should be so 
grateful if your lordship woujd describe yours 
to me," 

His lordship shifted uneasily, and then, in 
face of the girl's persistence, stood for some 
time divided between the contending claims 
of Hampton Court Palace and the Tower 
of London. He finally decided upon the 
former, after first refurnishing it at Maple's. 

" How happy you must be ! " said the 
breathless Jane, when he had finished. 

gazed at him with eyes suffused with timid 

"Oh, my lord," she said, prettily, "now I 
know what you've been doing. You've been 

"Slumming?" gasped his lordship. 
" You couldn't have described a place like 
that unless you had been," said Miss Rose, 
nodding. " I hope you took the poor people 
some nice hot soup." 

His lordship tried to explain, but without 
success. Miss Rose persisted in regarding 
him as a missionary of food and warmth, 
and spoke feelingly of the people who had 
to live in such places. She also warned him 

against the risk of 

"You don't under- 
stand " he repeated, 


He shook his head gravely. " My pos- 
sessions have never given me any happiness," 
he remarked. " I would much rather be in a 
humble rank of life. Live where I like, and 
— and marry whom I like." 

There was no mistaking the meaning fall 
in his voice. Miss Rose sighed gently and 
lowered her eyes — her lashes had often 
excited comment. Then, in a soft voice, she 
asked him the sort of life he would prefer. 

In reply, his lordship, with an eloquence 
which surprised himself, portrayed the joys of 
life in a seven-roomed house in town, with a 
greenhouse six feet by three, and a garden 
large enough to contain it. He really spoke 
well, and when he had finished his listener 

impatiently. "These are nice houses — nice 
enough for anybody to live in. If you took 
soup to people like that, why, they'd throw it 
at you." 

" VV T retches ! " murmured the indignant 
Jane, who was enjoying herself amazingly. 

His lordship eyed her with sudden 
suspicion, but her face was quite grave and 
bore traces of strong feeling. He explained 
again, but without avail. 

11 You never ought to go near such places, 
my lord," she concluded, solemnly, as she 
rose to quit the room. " Even a girl of my 
station would draw the line at that." 

She bowed ■ deeply, and withdrew. His 
lordship sarik'lfltB^Mft and, thrusting his 




hands into his pockets, gazed gloomily at the 
dried grasses in the grate. 

During the next day or two his appetite 
failed, and other well-known symptoms set 
in. Miss Rose, diagnosing them all, pre- 
scribed by stealth some bitter remedies. 
The farmer regarded his change of manner 
with disapproval, and, concluding that it was 
due to his own complaints, sought to reassure 
him. He also pointed out that his daughter's 
opinion of the aristocracy was hardly likely 
to increase if the only member she knew 
went about the house as though he had just 
lost his grandmother. 

"You are longing for the gaieties of 
town, my lord," he remarked one morning at 

His lordship shook his head. The gaieties 
comprised, amongst other things, a stool and 
a desk. 

" I don't like town," he said, with a glance 
at Jane. " If I had my choice I would live 
here always. I would sooner live here in this 
charming spot with this charming society than 

Mr. Rose coughed and, having caught his 
eye, shook his head at him and significantly 
glanced over at the unconscious Jane. The 
young man ignored his action and, having got 
an opening, gave utterance in the course of 
the next ten minutes to radical heresies of so 
violent a type that the farmer could hardly 
keep his seat. Social distinctions were con- 
demned utterly, and the House of Lords 
referred to as a human dust-bin. The farmer 
gazed open-mouthed at this snake he had 

" Your lordship will alter your mind when 
you get to town," said Jane, demurely. 

" Never ! " declared the other, impressively. 

The girl sighed, and gazing first with much 
interest at her parent, who seemed to be 
doing his best to ward off a fit, turned her 
lustrous eyes upon the guest. 

" We shall all miss you," she said, softly. 
"You've been a lesson to all of us." 

"Lesson?" he repeated, flushing. 

" It has improved our behaviour so, having 
a lord in the house," said Miss Rose, with 
painful humility. " I'm sure father hasn't been 
like the same man since you've been here." 

" What d'ye mean ? " demanded the farmer, 

" Don't speak like that before his lordship, 
father," said his daughter, hastily. " I'm 
not blaming you ; you're no worse than the 
other men about here. You haven't had an 
opportunity of learning before, that's all. It 
isn't your fault." 

" Learning ? " bellowed the farmer, turning 
an inflamed visage upon his apprehensive 
guest. " Have you noticed anything about my 
behaviour ? " 

" Certainly not," said his lordship, hastily. 

"All I know is," continued Miss Rose, 
positively, " I wish you were going to stay 
here another six months for father's sake." 

" Look here " began Mr. Rose, smiting 

the table. 

"And Annie's," said Jane, raising her 
voice above the din. " I don't know which 
has improved the most. I'm sure the way 
they both drink their tea now " 

Mr. Rose pushed his chair back loudly 
and got up from the table. For a moment 
he stood struggling for words, then he turned 
suddenly with a growl and quitted the room, 
banging the door after him in a fashion which 
clearly indicated that he still had some 
lessons to learn. 

" You've made your father angry," said 
his lordship. 

" It's for his own good," said Miss Rose. 
" Are you really sorry to leave us ? " 

" Sorry ? " repeated the other. " Sorry is 
no word for it." 

" You will miss father," said the girl. 

He sighed gently. 

" And Annie," she continued. 

He sighed again, and Jane took a slight 
glance at him corner wise. 

" And me too, I hope," she said, in a low 

" Miss you ! " repeated his lordship, in a 
suffocating voice. " I should miss the sun 

" I am so glad," said Jane, clasping her 
hands ; " it is so nice to feel that one is not 
quite forgotten. Of course, I can never for- 
get you. You are the only nobleman I have 
ever met." 

" I hope that it is not only because of 
that," he said, forlornly. 

Miss Rose pondered. When she pondered 
her eyes increased in size and revealed 
unsuspected depths. 

" No-o," she said at length, in a hesitating 

" Suppose that I were not what I am 
represented to be," he said, slowly. " Suppose 
that, instead of being Lord Fairmount, I were 
merely a clerk." 

" A clerk ? " repeated Miss Rose, with a 
very well-managed shudder. " How can I 
suppose such an absurd thing as that ? " 

" But if I were ? " urged his lordship, 
feverishly. Qj 

"llf?i^ffi. sup ^ s ^^ chathingas 



that/' said Miss Rose, briskly ; " your high 
birth is stamped on you." 

His lordship shook his head. 

" I would sooner be a labourer on this 
farm than a king anywhere else," he said, 
with feeling. 

Miss Rose drew a pattern on the floor 
with the toe of her shoe. 

" The poorest labourer on the farm can 
have the pleasure of looking at you every 
day," continued his lordship, passionately. 
" Every day of his life he can see you, and 
feel a better man for it." 

Miss Rose looked at him sharply. Only 
the day before the poorest labourer had seen 
her— when he wasn't expecting the honour — 
and received an epitome of his character 
which had nearly stunned him. But his 
lordship's face was quite grave. 

" I go to-morrow," he said. 

11 Yes," said Jane, in a hushed voice. 

He crossed the room gently and took a 
seat by her side. Miss Rose, still gazing at 
the floor, wondered indignantly why it was 
she was not blushing. His lordship's con- 
versation had come to a sudden stop and the 
silence was most awkward. 

" I've been a fool, Miss Rose," he said at 
last, rising and standing over her ; "and I've 

been taking a great liberty. I've been 
deceiving you for nearly a fortnight." 

14 Nonsense ! " responded Miss Rose, 

" I have been deceiving you," he repeated. 
"I have made you believe that I am a 
person of title." 

" Nonsense ! " said Miss Rose again. 

The other started and eyed her uneasily. 

" Nobody would mistake you for a lord," 
said Miss Rose, cruelly. "Why, I shouldn't 
think that you had ever seen one. You 
didn't do it at all properly. Why, your 
uncle Cray would have done it better." 

Mr. Cray's nephew fell back in conster- 
nation and eyed her dumbly as she laughed. 
All mirth is not contagious, and he was 
easily able to refrain from joining in this. 

" I can't understand," said Miss Rose, 
as she wiped a tear-dimmed eye — " I can't 
understand how you could have thought I 
should be so stupid." 

" I've been a fool," said the other, bitterly, 
as he retreated to the door. "Good-bye." 

"Good-bye," said Jane. She looked him 
full in the face, and the blushes for which 
she had been waiting came in force. " You 
needn't go, unless you want to," she said, 
softly. "I like fools better than lords." 

Original from 



Ups and Downs in My Life. 

By Henry W. Lucy. 

]CENE, Crystal Palace; 
locality, a bit of meadow 
inside the Palace grounds, 
consecrated to the departure 
of many balloons ; epoch, 
— 2f* the sixteenth Handel Festival ; 

time, high noon ; weather cloudy, with a 

strong wind blowing south-west. 

There are not many people 

about, the tens of thousands 

who throng the Crystal Palace 

being happily unconscious that 

a renowned traveller is about 

to make another journey. Up 

on a knoll near the gate lead- 
ing into the field are two 

nursemaids in charge of four 

children, the latter amusing 

themselves by dragging each 

other through a hedge, whilst 

the maids are profoundly 

occupied — the one reading a 

letter, the other listening. 
In the centre of the sward 

a balloon is swaying 

about ineffectually, 
held down by innu- 
merable bags of sand 
hooked on to the net- 
ting- A gentleman in 
semi -police attire is 
diligently pumping gas 
into the balloon. An-' 
other gentleman, in 
his shirt - sleeves, is 
superintending opera- 
tions. Others, also 
in shirt-sleeves, are 
holding on to ropes, 
sniffing at the gas, or 
performing other func- 
tions understood to be 
essential to a success- 
ful balloon ascent. 

Captain Fred Bur- 
naby (of the Blues) 
stands smilingly look- 
ing on, his colossal 
figure draped in a 
thick, far - reaching 
overcoat, his head 
crowned by a comical 
little tweed cap, 
guaranteed not to 
blow off unless the 
balloon goes within a 

Vol. jucxi— ■§ 

MR. H. W. LUCY. 
From a Photo, fry Etliott rfr *Yy. 

mile of Saturn. Near him is another gallant 
captain, of the Grenadiers, who has not 
thought the occasion worth special prepara- 
tion in the way of dress. He has turned out 
in an ordinary shooting-coat, and " billycock " 
hat warranted to blow off on the slightest 
provocation. There is no particular reason 
why the Grenadier should go 
up in a balloon, except that 
there is a strong spice of dan- 
ger about the enterprise; for 
whomsoever else may join the 
expedition, it is stipulated that 
there shall be no professional 
aeronaut. Burnaby, however, 
has a purpose. Back from 
his ride to Khiva, he has now 
been in this effete land several 
weeks, and its commonplaces 
begin to pall upon him. Life 
is scarcely worth living in a 
country where a man regularly 
goes to bed under cover ; 
where he dines at stated hours, 
has his morning and 

7 evening newspapers, 
goes to dinner-parties 
and balls, and from 
Sunday to Saturday 
comes no nearer dan- 
ger than that which 
may lurk under the 
probability of a mob 
suddenly breaking in 
upon the Horse 
Guards, when he 
might at the head of 
his troops defend it to 
the last drop of his 

Growing discon- 
tented with the hor- 
rible regularity of life 
in London, the 
thought occurred to 
him that he would 
have a balloon all to 
himself, where, freed 
from the counsels or 
the fears of an aero- 
naut, he might go 
whither the wind 
should drive him. As 

UK. WKIGHT IN THR CAR <>K THK BALLOON ^flWffl d+*f FQ f*P me mei1 > "llOlllg 


>'™" • PM °- <* «' T - Wri $tJ.» H^^^^T^Wilgj^Nnot sound in 



the liver, take a pill, so the captain decided 
to take a balloon. Thus it comes to pass that, 
whilst the wind is bending the mighty trees, 
swaying the balloon to and fro as if it were a 
feather, he looks on with contented smile, 
the colour already coming back to his cheeks, 
the light returning to his eyes. 

11 Now, sir," said Wright, the envied owner 

"the balloon is surging and 

swaying in a manner that 

threatens to pitch thk 

occupants out op the car." 

of a real balloon, " the sooner you are ready, 
the better I shall be pleased." 

" Have you given us plenty of gas ? " asked 
the captain. 

" Yes, sir ; you will go up like a shot." 

"Give us some more gas," said Burnaby, 

The gentleman in the semi police uniform 
shook up the hose, and the balloon, 
trembling and snorting like a maddened 
horse, threatened to break away. 

Crawling in under the netting, skilfully 
evading the swaying cords that threatened to 
Strangle him, the Grenadier boarded the car. 
Sitting down at the bottom, with his head 
thrust through the netting, after the fashion 

an ambitious bird on the way to market in a 
twine bound basket curiously regards the 
surrounding scenery, he had a bad five 
minutes. The balloon was tossed about with 
increased frenzy. Every time it pitched 
over, right or left, the netting swept 
across, threatening to create a flow of pro- 
motion in a crack regiment. 

Burnaby, scorning to 
dodge in among the 
netting, strode fiercely 
over it towards the car, 
his illimitable legs dan- 
gerously entwined at 
every step. He got 
over safely, just escap- 
ing being ripped up by 
the anchor as the bal- 
loon lurched over, and 
the Grenadier's head, 
still safe on his shoul- 
ders, disappeared on 
the other side. The 
captain has every quali- 
fication for an aeronaut 
except moderate size. 
No one except those 
who have made an 
aerial journey with him 
can imagine the curi- 
ously complete way in 
which his legs pervade 
the car. It is a case 
of Eclipse first and the 
rest nowhere. If he 
did not find a fresh 
charm in the danger of 
sitting on the edge of 
the car whilst it careers 
through space, it would 
be absolutely impos- 
sible to dispose of him 
in any aerial contriv- 
ance built on a smaller scale than the dome 
of St. Paul's Cathedral. 

Now the car is loaded the balloon grows 
madder and madder, dashing off towards the 
side on the edge of which the captain sits, 
holding on to the netting. Then it lurches 
back, the Grenadier, now master of the situ- 
ation, deftly dodging the netting as it sweeps 
across with murderous intent to strangle him. 
" Let go ! " cried the captain, and the men 
begin unhooking the bags of sand. 

The balloon is positively going out of what 
passes with it for a mind, surging and sway- 
ing in a manner that threatens to pitch the 
occupants out of the car. 

" L ^.iHf'. i ER?l?f^l , ^l^.l=l allast '" 



"You have got plenty," Wright expostu- 

"Another bag of ballast, " says the cap- 
tain, in the same uncompromising manner 
with which he had ordered and obtained 
more gas. The bag was pitched in. 

The sand-bags that anchor the balloon to 
earth are unhooked one by one. The men 
in charge grow more and more excited. The 
two nursemaids on the far-off knoll stop read- 
ing their letter to watch the balloon. Of the 
four children one has been finally overcome, 
and, lying prone on its face, its back affords 
a convenient coign of vantage whence an 
elder brother may observe the proceedings. 
The last link with earth is loosed. The mad 
surging of the balloon ceases. To the 
throbbing and jumping there succeeds a 
condition of absolute steadiness, whilst 
the world and all that therein is seem sud- 
denly to sink beneath the occupants of the 

The prospect swiftly widens, and, without 
feeling that we have stirred an inch, lo ! we 
are motionless many feet above the topmost 
pinnacle of the Crystal Palace. All around, 
for miles and miles, lies the verdurous 
country with a cloud of smoke towards 
the north, through which chimneys and spires 
appear, indicating that there lies London. 

Driven by the south- 
west wind the balloon 
was carried swiftly on at 
the rate of forty miles an 
hour. So steady and 
motionless was the pro- 
gress that the only way 
of ascertaining that one 
moved was to fix the eye 
on some landmark. 
Being w r ell loaded with 
ballast, the balloon was 
kept at a pretty low level 
for some miles, thus af- 
fording a view of the 
country stretched below, 
the fields showing in 
varied pattern like 
a drawing - room carpet, 
the towns and villages, 
with all their streets sin- 
gularly straight, dotted 
about like neatly - made 
toys. Clear away to the 
north - west London 
loomed large, the prin- 
cipal object in the con 
geries of buildings being 
St, Paul's Cathedral. 

The balloon made straight for the river, 
crossing it just below Greenwich. Harking 
back, it trended farther east, crossing again at 
Woolwich. Whilst sailing in this direction 
the captain's heart was light. Balloon ascents 
are a comparative nothingness to him, for, 
having long ago made his twentieth, he has 
given up counting how many times he has 
been up. In the present instance there was 
the special spice of delight in the fact that 
he was untrammelled by the presence of an 
aeronaut, and that consequently something 
might happen. What he wanted, and chiefly 
hoped for, was to get to the sea. 

" It is a curious thing in this country," he 
said, looking moodily at his compass, "that 
one never or rarely gets a good stiff north 
breeze that would carry a balloon over the 
Channel. This westerly gust, if it lasted, 
would take Uo out into the German 
Ocean. But we shall have it changing again, 
and will be off on the usual journey across 

There fell dead silence. The balloon sped 
steadily eastward till Woolwich was passed. 
Looking far out the eye beheld, under a 
gleam of sunshine, something that shone like 
molten silver. 

" The sea ! " cried the captain. 

A voice, which sounded strangely — as 

'a broad ssa or FUPECYl 





voices do in the unearthly stillness of this 
upper air— slowly spoke : — 

Then felt I like some watcher of the skies 

When a new planet swims into his ken ; 

Or like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes 

He stared at the Pacific, and all his men 

Look'd on each other with a wild surmise 

Silent upon a peak in Darien. 

Burnaby's prognostication proved true. 
After catching a glimpse of what seemed to 
be the sea, though it was probably only the 
broad mouth of the river at Gravesend, the 
balloon, spinning round, began to recross 
the river, and swiftly made its way over the 
low-lying land of Essex. 

"Shall we go higher?" said the Grenadier. 

"Yes," said the captain. 

A bag of ballast was emptied, the earth 
seemed to sink farther, and the top of the 
balloon suddenly came upon a cloud. Like 
everything else, the cloud soon dropped 
below the car. The balloon went sailing on. 
Above, a cloudless sky of blue ; below, no 
earth, nor sight nor sound of human life. 
Only a broad sea of fleecy cloud, on which 
was pictured the shadow of the balloon, with 
the heads of the occupants as clearly 
traced as if it were a colossal photograph. 
It was worth a much more perilous 
journey to see this picture, and to feel all 
that was made possible by the sight. 
Overhead, the bewitchingly blue sky, 
tempering with softened light the blazing 
ball of the setting sun ; beneath, the 
fleecy clouds with the shadowy compani< n 
balloon; afar off, beyond the ravel ltd 
edges of the cloud, glimpses of glade 
and trees and sunlit fields. 

" It is confoundedly hot," said the 

11 Yes," said the captain, taking off his 
gigantic coat and hanging it on to the 
anchor, as if he were in a mess-room. 
"One comfort in being above 
the clouds is that a man can sit 
in public in his shirt-sleeves." 

The balloon sped on and pre- 
sently cleared the cloud. All the 
nether world lay spread below, 
with the Thames glittering far 
away behind, suggesting the idea 
that the sea-serpent had got 
himself electro plated and was 
leisurely crawling up towards 
London, intent upon seeing the 
great city. After sailing for an hour and a 
half, the wind still keeping southerly, the sea 
again became visible to the east. A glance at 
the map showed that this must be the Black- 
water River, and that, with the wind as it 

now was, the balloon would, in course of 
time, arrive at Norwich. Some distance 
ahead was a wood — not Epping Forest, as 
the Grenadier surmised, for Epping lay away 
to the left. 

" We had better get down before we reach 
the wood," said the captain ; "so here goes." 

And he gave the gas-pipe a turn. The 
earth, contrary to its usual practice, now 
began to ascend. Suddenly the fields 
assumed larger dimensions ; trees grew up as 
if by magic ; animals, which looked like hares 
as they capered about the meadows, turned 


opt to be horses ; cattle, which 
one thought were mice, dis- 
closed themselves in their true dimen- 
sions. With the sound of the wind 
rushing in the ears, and a vague sense 
that if the earth did not cease be- 
having itself in this ludicrous manner 
there would shortly be a collision, 
things continued to grow larger and larger. 

" Out with the anchor ! " shouted the 
captain. The anchor was dropped, the 
earth thereupon suddenly taking a dive, 
leaviD^^.^^^^^ feet higl 




than when freighted with the iron load. You 
may throw an anchor out on a field, but you 
cannot make it bite. This particular anchor 
amused itself by dancing about on the hard 
earth, diligently grubbing up the gnfts, pass- 
ing through hedges, and skilfully avoiding 
anything that offered a firm clutch. 

The earth, having thus insisted upon 
coming up to the balloon, brought the wind 
with it. The captain was now in improved 
spirits. The pertinacious conduct of the 
anchor was quite an unlooked-for treat. 
Fullness of joy was promised by approaching 
the wood, which was rushing on the balloon 
with far more velocity than Dunsinane 
approached Macbeth. 

11 We shall be into the wood in half a 
minute," said the captain, cheerfully. 

" At the charge!" responded the Grenadier. 
Amid the rushing of the wind might be 
heard an in- 
spiriting whistle 
sounding the 

11 Here is the 
wood ! " 

Into it went the 
balloon, crashing 
against a tree and 
tearing a large 
strip out of the 
silk, spreading 
abroad a perfume 
as if the main pipe 
of the gasworks 
had suddenly 
burst If the an- 
chor would only 
catch the ground 
now all would be 

But there never 
was, since the days 
of the Ark, an an- 
chor like this. To 
observe the way it 
carefully eluded 
trees, which grew 
about as plenti- 
fully as gooseberry 
bushes, was ex- 
ceedingly interest- 
ing. It would go 
half a yard out of 
its course to avoid 
an eligible tree, 
whilst it fiercely 
grubbed up 
any weeds that 


'there was nothing for it but to d! 

raised aloft their feeble stalks. From tree to 
tree the wind hurried the balloon, making 
fresh gashes in the canvas, threatening to 
leave not a rag behind. Also the balloon 
now began to droop heavily, and it was 
evident that the end could not long be 

Midway in the wood the anchor care- 
fully selected an exceedingly rotten elm, on a 
branch of which the car calmly reposed, the 
anchor taking this opportunity — when it was 
absolutely of no use — to fasten itself in the 
root of a giant oak. There was nothing for 
it but to drop on to the ground, and this was 
done without other harm than a few scratches. 
There remained the balloon to release, and 
this the Grenadier volunteered to do. Climb- 
ing up the tree like a cat, he, though half 
suffocated with gas, loosened the folds of the 
balloon, and lowered the car into the arms of 

the captain. 

" How do you 
feel now?" asked 
the Grenadier, 
when, at midnight, 
he met his com 
panion of voyage 
at the Queen's ball 
at Buckingham 

fc< Better," said 
Burnaby, empha- 
tically. "That 
was a capital an- 
chor. I am going 
to buy it from 
Wright, and will 
keep it for future 
balloon journeys." 

On March i8th, 
1904, being a 
Friday, day of ill 
omen to sailors, 
the country was 
shocked by news 
of terrible disaster. 
The submarine 
A/, scouting off 
the Nab Light- 
ship, was run 
down by a big 
ocean steamer 
homeward bound. 
The officers on the 
bridge of the Ber- 
lin Castle, feeling 
a shock to the hull 

U«MEIiflB"dKMCHIQWJ their ship^ 



thought they had been struck by a torpedo, 
and hastily signalled to whom it might con- 
cern that they did not care for further practice. 
What actually happened was that, running 
over the submerged A/, the liner struck the 
connng tower, sending the submarine to the 
bottom, seven fathoms down, with her crew 
of nine hands and two officers sealed up in 
a hopeless tomb, 

Twelve months later, walking through 
Portsmouth Dockyard, I came upon a 
ghastly memento of the terrible tragedy. It 
was the hull of the hapless Ai in dry dock 
undergoing repairs. Her frail framework 
showed the rent caused by the impact of the 
great steamer. Repairs were still going 
forward, but the dockyard authorities were 

harbour. To draw alongside was easy enough, 
at least for the man at the wheel of the 
launch. For a mere landsman there was 
initial difficulty in getting aboard the sub- 
marine.* Built for working in the depths of 
ocean, the structure of a fish is inevitably 
adopted. For the unaccustomed foot the 
deck of A2 inconveniently resembled the 
back of a porpoise. That would have 
mattered less had there been anything in the 
shape of bulwarks or rails to hang on by. A 
porpoise has neither, nor had A2. The 
second lieutenant, his legs scientifically 
astraddle, gripped my hand and I made my 
way to the centre of the rolling boat, whence 
projected the top of what I subsequently 
recognised as the conning tower. A per- 


not disposed to hurry them. At the call of 
duty the British seamen will go anywhere and 
do anything. Still, on the whole, it was 
thought better not to hurry At into commis- 
sion again. Better let the passage of a year 
or two blunt the feeling of horror and alarm 
created by the accident. 

I had personal interest in the wreck, since I 
was on my way to join her sister ship, A2, 
with intent to make a submarine excursion. 
The Admiral and the party from Admiralty 
House cheerily came to see me off. I did 
not discern in their countenances or their 
manner overweening desire on the part of 
anyone to share the adventure. Sufficient 
for the day was the opportunity of seeing the 
rescued wreck of Ai y without actually experi- 
menting in the unsympathetic bosom of the 
deep and the narrow hold of A2, 

It was a lovely spring morning. Portsmouth 
Harbour sparkled in the sunlight as we 
steamed in the Admiral's launch towards the 
submarine awaiting us at the mouth of the 

pendicular steel ladder shoots down into the 
hold, quite a snug apartment running the full 
length of the hull. In the centre, under the 
conning tower, it was some seven or eight 
feet high. Following the lines of the porpoise, 
it narrowed fore and aft to a point where men 
moving about perforce w f ent down on hands 
and knees. 

Brilliantly illuminated with electric light, 
one could see that on either side every 
foot of the space was devoted to intricate 
machinery. Port and starboard the bellied 
sides of the hold were occupied by what, 
to the solitary passenger, were inscrutable 
screws and levers, each having its appointed 
function, failure at any particular turn mean- 
ing the destruction of the ship and its crew. 
By and by, when, submerged, A2 was merrily 
moving along under pretence of being charged 
with a playful surprise for an enemy's ship, 
and, in obedience to the word of command, 
swift hands teaching forth here and there 
touch4Wr*Ertet$tr^ ^rew, one 



thought of the organ-loft and a musician 
manipulating the stops. 

When I descended, the crew, nine all 
told, were each at his appointed post, lying 
or sitting, according to his position in con- 
nection with the sloping deck overhead. 
The second lieutenant was in charge below. 
The first stood on the ladder in the conning 
tower. At a signal the top of the turret 
closed down, shutting out the light of heaven 
and glimpses of the shore. The valves io 
the ballast tanks were opened and filled with 
water. The boat began to sink, swiftly 
disappearing from the gaze of the interested 

ant in command. From time to time his 
voice, pitched in low, vibrating tones, solemnly 
distinct, broke the silence by rapping forth 
orders intently listened for by the nine sailors, 
barefooted, strong-handed, alert. 

11 Close 3, 4, and 5," said the voice from 
the tower. There was quick movement on 
the part of three bluejackets. A wheel was 
turned or a lever pulled. In turn came the 
almost whispered responses, " Three closed, 
sir," " Four closed, sir," " Five closed, 

Silence fell for some moments, then fresh 
orders with quick response, always in that 


company on the Admiral's launch. Only 
amid the eddy on the surface of the sea 
under which A 2 had sunk projected the 
mouth of the periscope, a small, ingeniously 
constructed reflector, our only means of 
communication with a narrowly limited space 
of the world above. 

I began to be alert for the coming of novel 
sensations. When we began our descent 
surely one would feel the movement and hear 
the swish of hungry water as the boat sank. 
There was something terribly intense in the 
tones and attitude of officers and crew. Only 
the second lieutenant, told off to explain 
matters to the passenger, preserved an airy 
manner and a lightness of tone suitable more 
to a snug smoking-room than the hull of a 
submerged boat. Up in the conning tower, 
his eye to the periscope, perched the lieuten- 

sort of whisper in which people exchange 
remarks in a death chamber. To tell the 
truth, the narrow hold, regarded longi- 
tudinally, with its bulging midships, its taper- 
ing ends, and its memories of Ai twelve 
months ago buried full seven fathoms deep, 
did resemble a Gargantuan coffin. 

"When shall we sink?" I whispered to 
the second lieutenant. (I did not mean to 
whisper, but the habit was imperative and 

" We sank five minutes ago," he answered. 
11 We are ten feet under water, out of sight 
from sea or land, except for a few inches of 
the top of the periscope. We are making 
eight knots nicely. If, before going under, 
we had spotted the enemy's ship, we should 
be within firing* ^afejgS^'iin twenty minutes, 
woul0f#tfH£^ in the bows 



yonder, and be ready for the spare tube as on the lower rung of the steel ladder. For 

the first hit or missed the hull." the rest the crew were as absolutely machines 

Straining attention, one had (or fancied he as were the screws they turned or the levers 

had) some sense of movement, hearing some they pressed. Save for the commander's 

sound of bub 
bling water at 
the prow. But 
it required ex- 
ercise of faith 
capable of re- 
moving moun- 
tains to realize 
that we had 
sunk beyond 
sight or ken of 
mankind, and 
were running 
races in the 
depths of the 
sea with sur- 
prised soles 
and confound- 
ed cod. Tes- 
timony to the 
unusual situa- 
tion was not 
through the 
m ed i um of 
other senses. 
We were shut 
out from the 
ambient air. 

But forrard, under the spare torpedo tube, 
was stored in chambers an amount of air that 
would, I was assured by the cheery second 
lieutenant, last for twelve hours. 

Nearly three months later, on June 8th, 
another sister ship of A2 sank with her com- 
plement of eleven men on board. For fully 
twelve hours the rescue party overhead dis- 
covered in the stream of bubbles floating to 
the surface evidence that for that period the 
imprisoned men were alive, having sufficient 
air to breathe. This liberal storage is neces- 
sary, for, though a cruise below— at least in 
practice time — rarely exceeds half an hour, 
there is ever-present danger of happing on a 
mud-bank at the bottom of the sea, involv- 
ing prolonged struggle for deliverance. 

Through the twenty minutes we were 
engulfed there was no perceptible difference 
in the air we breathed. What became of the 
vitiated atmosphere is a mystery I forgot to 

Under Providence, we were absolutely in 
the hands of the young lieutenant up in the 
conning tower, his prosaic feet just showing 


voice now 
and then 
breaking in on 
the uncanny 
stillness, and 
for the coffin- 
shaped space 
on which the 
electric light 
shone, they 
neither heard 
nor saw. 
Rolled round in 
earth's diurnal 
With rocks and 
stones and 

Coming back 
to our starting- 
point, always 
without sense 
of motion, I 
peered through 
the periscope. 
From the depth 
of the hold I 
looked upon a 
circle of water 
with the sun- 
light illumining it. On its rim was the 
Admiral's launch with the house-party on 
board, probably wondering with vexed appre 
hension whether anything would happen to 
A2 f her crew and passenger, that at the 
bidding of common decency would interfere 
with luncheon at the accustomed hour. This 
circular space, the range of the periscope, is 
all that the commander of a submarine can 
see from the depths. It seems to have failed 
A 1 in the moment of peril. Had the 
lieutenant in the conning tower caught sight 
of the liner entering the rim of light there 
would have been time to sink the boat 
beyond the point of danger. 

11 So you've come up again ! n a voice said, 
as, emerging from the depths, we found our- 
selves almost alongside the Admiral's launch. 
It was the young daughter of Admiralty 

The remark was prosaic. Of course we 
had come up again. Perhaps it was super- 
sensitiveness that gave birth to the fancy of 
discerning a shade of disappointment clouding 
an ingenuous county 


Henry Irving. 

Written and Illustrated by Harry Furniss, 

apology is, perhaps, 
fS\ expected from me for 
1 adding my little stock 
±Jf of reminiscences of our 
greatest actor to the 
huge list of those al- 
ready published. I 
y think I may say, how- 
ever, that I had ex- 
ceptional opportunities 
of knowing him. He 
and I were very old 
friends, and I made a 
careful study of him in 
fifty of his best-known 
characters. Every one 
of these sketches he 
approved of. Let me 
begin my recollections 
with a quotation from 
a letter which I sent to 
the Daily Telegraph 
just after his death : — 
" I have been rather surprised that, so far as 
I have seen, no artist's name appears in all 
the appreciations of Irving published since 
his death. Yet Irving, to my mind, was 
essentially the artist-actor. A deaf man, if 
artistic, could enjoy and understand the 
subtlety of Sir Henry Irving's wonderful per- 
formances, simply through watching his 
artistic manner. 

"In 1887, when I removed my* Artistic 
Joke* from the Gainsborough Gallery, in 
Bond Street, and re-opened it in Manchester 
shortly afterwards, I found that Irving hap- 
pened to be playing in that city in * Faust.' 
The Manchester Art and Literary Club 
gave a supper in his honour, and, hear- 
ing that I was in the city, they very 
kindly invited me. To my surprise and 
embarrassment I found myself placed at 
the table at the left of the chairman, 
and regarded as the second guest of the 

" After supper Irving delivered, in his easy 
manner, one of those graceful speeches in 
which no one surpassed him. I was then 
called upon to follow upon * Art/ and, 
unprepared, I was somewhat at a loss to con- 
nect ' Art ' and * The Drama/ However, 

VoL xxxL— 0. 

I advanced a favourite point of mine, which 
is that artists derive much benefit from the 
theatre, whither they go to learn. I reminded 
my listeners that a hundred years ago Royal 
Academicians used to meet at their Royal 
Academy, where a model was placed in front 
of them, in order that they might discuss the 
different attitudes and movements of figures 
and their drapery. This their successors no 
longer meet to do, and I pointed out that 
among the reasons which have led them to 
discontinue the practice was the fact that 
they can now sit in the stalls of the Lyceum 
Theatre and get a lesson in motion, attitude, 
and the movement of drapery, from such a 
master of those arts as Irving." 

In fact, no actor ever came nearer to the 
combination of the artist and the actor than 
Sir Henry Irving. 

It struck me as I was making the remarks 
noted above that Irving was probably think- 
ing of the caricatures I had perpetrated of 
him. But although there is no denying the 
fact that he was very sensitive to caricature, 
he knew that I was a genuine admirer of his 
genius, and that in common with all artists I 

Original from 



knew him to be a true artist also, and his 
poses and the management of his hands and 
drapery were well worth studying by the 
brethren of the pencil and the brush. 

He was as much a friend to the workers in 
the studio as he was to 
those on the stage, and 
it is therefore sad to 
think that he fared so 
badly in the hands of the 
artists — both painters 
and sculptors. The late 
Edwin Long painted a 
very poor picture of 
Irving as Hamlet. Mil- 
lais* portrait exhibited in 
the Academy, and since 
then hanging over the 
fireplace in the strangers* 
room in the Garrick 
Club, gives one no idea 
of strength, and Irving 
had a strong face. And 
as he frequently sat under 
this portrait it was easy 
to contrast the original 
with the picture. 

A caricaturist is one 
who emphasizes all the 
bad qualities in the 
sitter and avoids the 
better ones. Is it libellous to say that a 
certain R.A.'s portraits are clever simply 
for the reason that he is most uncom- 
promising ? He paints the Jew picture- 
dealer, cunning, leery ; the turn of the 
thumb, the whole attitude, is that of a Jew 
in burlesque. Yet who can say it is not 
true to life ? The wife of the vulgar City 
man, as he depicts her, with diamonds in her 
hair, on every fii ^er, 
round each wrist, is 
true to nature. Yet 
the nature seems 
more vulgar on can- 
vas than in real life. 
The artist who can 
paint the truth and 
" show up n his sit- 
ters, as caricatures 
do, is daring; but he 
is, in his art, essen- 
tially a caricaturist. 
Still, when he paints 
a portrait of a great 
artist, and not merely 
of a successful man 
or woman in trade, he 
ought to bring out 


the best points of his sitter. His portrait of 
Irving, a greater artist himself than all the 
Academicians— English, Dutch, or Yankee — ■ 
ought to have been the tribute of one artist 
to another — such a portrait, for instance, as 
that of Mrs. Siddons by 
Reynolds. But what was 
that portrait ? The head 
of a drunken, fifth-rate, 
broken - down mummer. 
I caricatured it, merci- 
fully, in Punch as our own 
Irving with a bad cold 
in his head. Anyway, it 
was certainly quite un- 
worthy of the artist- 
painter or of the artist- 
actor. This Irving him- 
self felt, and felt bitterly. 
He made no secret of the 
fate of this portrait. For 
one evening, at a dinner 
of distinguished people, 
he informed the guests 
what had befallen it. 

" I have been asking 
my friend next to me," 
he said, indicating the 
President of the Royal 
Academy, and address- 
ing the company in 
general, "whether any man has a right to 
destroy the work of a great artist, should that 
artist produce a portrait which may be 
regarded as a libel. Some of you have seen 

a portrait of me by X , who I believe is 

a great painter, exhibited in the Academy a 
few seasons ago. That portrait I looked 
upon with indignation. To-day— this very 
morning — in the process of packing (I am 

leaving my old rooms 
off Bond Street) I 
came across it. I 
called in my old ser- 
vant-man and asked 
him what he thought 
of it. Would he have 
it? No; he declined. 
S6 I took a long, 
sharp knife and I cut 
that portrait into long 
strips, and my man 
threw them into the 
fire. Now, was I 
justified in that act ? 
That is what I want 
to know." 

It is a thousand 
tisk)*l f pities that this clever 




artist did not rise to the occasion and hand 
down to posterity a really fine portrait of 
Irving. This unfortunate one was only a 
head. He could have painted the head 
again, and some model could have sat for 
the figure. Irving knew all about such studio 
matters, as the following anecdote shows. 

It so happened I sat at supper next to 
Irving on the night of the greatest prize-fight 
of our time. Strange to say, it was a supper 
at the Garrick Club given by an artist to 
those who supported his election to the club. 
The fight I had been to was 
that famous encounter at the 
National Sporting Club be- 
tween Slavin and the black 
pugilist, Jackson. Irving was 
deeply interested in my ac- 
count of the fight I had just 
seen. I told him 
of the fine effort 
of the defeated 
but plucky white 
man, Slavin. As 
an artist I could 
not but admire 
the grand phy- 
sique of the 
ebony - skinned 

" Yes," said 
Irving, " he must be a 
splendid fellow. You 
know, we actors have 
taken credit for a phy- 
sique not our own — 
witness the pictures of 
the last generation and 
those before. Then the 
actor sat only for the 
head ; a prize - fighter 
posed for the figure, 
and, strange to say, 
the favourite model of 
the last generation was a coloured fighter." 

With the exception of Hamlet, no part has 
ever been the making of an acton An actor 
must make the part, and the part must 
suit his personality. No one would ever 
select Sir Henry Irving to play Falstaff, but 
everyone selected him to play Don Quixote. 
The part was written for him, and he looked 
the character to perfection. But one great 
difficulty that presented itself was the finding 
of Don Quixote's horse — sufficiently quaint, 
starved, and aged. Irving had not himself 
thought much about it, but as the time for the 
production drew near he realized with anxiety 
that he had to appear, attired in armour, 


astride his charger. He consulted his trust- 
worthy lieutenant, Mr. Bram Stoker. 
"Bram, what about the horse, eh?" 
"Oh, that's all right. I have found the 
very one for you in a field between Sun- 
derland and South Shields. It's on its 

The rehearsals went on. Irving bestrode a 
common or prompter's chair, and waved his 
umbrella in place of his spear. 

But horse-riding — particularly in front of 
the footlights — is a feat not to be performed 
without practice. 

"Bram, where is that 
horse ? " 

" I've just got a tele- 
gram, sir ; it is on its 
way ; it will be at Eus- 
ton before we reach 
Act II." 

No horse arrived. 
Irving was getting more 
and more uneasy. 

11 Bram, where is that 
horse? I had better 
hire one somewhere in 

"It's coming. Hire 
one in London ! Why, 
there is not one in the 
whole of London to 
suit the part. Wait till 
you see this one. It 
will be a gigantic suc- 
cess. You can count 
its ribs, and its bones 
stand out like hat- 
pegs. It's ewe-necked 
and has a head like a 

" But where is it ? I 
must see it to-day." 

Bram rushed from 

the stage, and nearly 

rushing on with a 

upset a messenger 

The telegram ran : — 

" Horse and man have arrived at Euston 
and started for theatre." 

Mr. Bram Stoker handed the telegram to 
his chief. Mr. Loveday called out Act IL ; 
Sir Henry disappeared to his dressing-room 
to have his armour put on, and before all this 
was completed Mr. Bram Stoker returned. 
He rushed on to the stage with reddened 
face and glistening eye, his whole appearance 
denoting tragic disappointment. 

" Stoker, where is that horse f " 

" Oh, it's all up with it" 




" What, not here ! Where is it ? " 

" It arrived— it left Euston " 

" Yes, yes ; I know, I saw the tele- 
gram, But where is it ? n 

" Well, the man and the beast got as far 
as Bow Street, then the police stopped them. 
The horse was ordered to be shot, and the 
man has been sentenced to a month's hard 
labour for cruelty to animals ! " 

The painstaking Mr. Stoker's trouble was 
therefore lost, and stage realism suffered a 
blow. The substitute was a cab-horse, which, 
strange to relate, had 
to be made up for 
every performance 
to look a M bag of 


r 1 


painted and hollow 
flanks artistically 

This little incident 
recalls another that 
happened a few years 
afterwards, when Irving 
produced Sardou's 
11 Robespierre." It was 
then necessary to have 
a horse to pull on a 
cart crowded with coun- 
try folk, in the beauti- 
ful rustic scene with 
which the play opens. 

This time Irving 
did not trust to wasters 
from the north or risks 
with the Society for the 
Prevention of Cruelty 
to Animals. He dis- 
covered that the white 
horse ridden by an- 
other celebrated actor 
in a popular play which 
had just completed its 
run was, in technical 
phraseology, "resting"; so it was brought 
on to the stage of the Lyceum at rehearsal 
for taring's inspection. The following conver- 
sation took place between Sir Henry and the 
man with the horse : — 

" My good man, is this horse docile ?" 

" Lor* bless you, Sir 'Enry, it's as quiet as 
a lamb." 

"And accustomed, I hear, to the stage, eh ?" 

11 Yes, sir ; it's the very 'orse as 'as been 
such a success in Mr. X 's great pro- 
duction at his grand theatre." 

" Ah, quite so, quite so. Mr. X — — found 
it a good actor, eh ? " 


I should think he did 

i V (Stodge 

X was haranguing the audience, why 

this 'ere 'orse yawned, it did." 

11 Ah, I see, it's a good critic too." 
Sir Henry never forgot an old friend ; and 
many and many a kindly act of princely 
generosity is known, but not recorded. 
Perhaps one is worth telling, as it is not 
only a fair specimen of hundreds of Sir 
Henry's acts of munificence, but it also 
throws a side-light on to the peculiar weak- 
ness of members of " the profession." 

Shortly after Irving went into management 
at the Lyceum he was 
walking down the 
Strand, when he was 
accosted by an out-of- 
elbow, broken - down 
tragedian : — 

" What ? Harry, my 
hearty ! How is my 
old pal Harry? 
Why, the boys tell me, 
Irving, that you are 
now an actor-manager; 
running the Lyceum. 
Who ever would have 
thought of this, in 
the old stock days at 
Edinburgh and Liver- 
pool, eh ? " 

11 Ah, my dear fel- 
low 7 , quite so — quite 
so," said Irving, shak- 
ing the stranger by the 
hand. " But you have 
the advantage of me. 
Who are you ? " 

"Who am I? Why, 
Roscius Shakespeare 
Thompson ; you re- 
member R. S. Thomp- 
son — Rocy, your old 

" Ah, of course ; 
now I do recall you, Thompson. You are 
* Dressing-bag Thompson,' aren't you?" 

" Why, of course I am; ' Dressing-bag 
Thompson/ Fancy, Harry, your remember- 
ing that after all these years ! " 

" What are you doing, Thompson ? " 
" Walking gent ; examiner of public build- 
ings ; anything you like but acting. Ah, 
Harry, the profession isn't w r hat it w r as in the 
palmy days of stock companies. They're all 
burst now, and shop-boys become ' actors ' 
and tour in pieces written by clerks, and run 
by American Jew company-promoters. The 
1 legitimate/ " said Thompson, thumping him- 
self on the (fiS^'Mr&Wlonger appreciated. 




By the way, Harry, what can you do for one 
of the right sort ? " 

•' Come round to the Lyceum ; we'll 
consult Bram Stoker. . . . Here, Stoker, allow 
me to introduce Mr. Thompson — * Dressing- 
bag Thompson.' Is our company full? 
We'll put him on the list and chance a suit- 
able part turning up." Then, turning to 
Thompson, he said : — 

" What about salary, eh ? Twelve pounds 
a week, eh ? " 

"From you, Harry, as an old pal, I will 
accept that retainer. I like to help an old 
friend ; so consider my services are yours at 
the honorarium mentioned." 

" That's all right, Thompson ; you will be 
paid weekly and advised when the next play 
is to be read. Good-bye, Thompson. How 
is your mother ? All right, eh ? Of course ; 
Bram, just pay Mr. Thompson his first week's 
salary in advance." 

The next play was read in due course. 
" Dressing-bag Thompson " sat with the rest 
of the company while the characters were 
distributed, but no part fell to him. 

" Henry, Henry, where is my part ? " he 

11 Eh ? Ah, yes, my dear fellow," said 
Irving,' walking up to him ; " the play, you 
see, is by a modern author, one of those 
fellows who don't appreciate legitimate actors. 
Better luck next time ! You get your twelve 
pounds a week, I hope? How is your 
mother? Good-bye, old chap." 

Again the time came round for another 
reading — this time a revival of Shakespeare. 
Thompson rose and asked once more where 
his part was. Irving approached him kindly 
but " Dressing-bag Thompson " greeted him 
with : " No, no, Harry ; no excuse this time, 
old chap. The immortal bard is no new 
author ; he's legitimate. Where is my part ? " 

" Ah, my dear fellow," said Irving, putting 
his arm into Thompson's and drawing him 
to one side. "You get your salary, eh — 
twelve pounds a week ? " 

" Yes, yes ; but where's my part ? This is 
not a modern author." 

"No, no; of course. But, 'Dressing-bag 
Thompson,' you know we're obliged to 
respect the dead." 

I was once sketching Irving in a new piece 
at a dress rehearsal for one of the illustrated 
papers. At the same time an artist hailing 
from the Emerald Isle, with the strongest 
brogue I ever heard, appealed to me as a 
friend of Irving to allow him to see that actor 
in his dressing-room for the purpose of getting 
more detail of the costume. This Irving 

kindly assented to ; and after some time the 
Irish artist returned full of admiration. 

" Begorrah, sorr, living's a wonderful man 
intoirly. Oi hadn't bin spakin' foive minuets 
whin he axes me, ' Whin, thin, did you lave 
Oireland?' Begorrah, he's a wonderful 
insoight into cha-rar-ter to till Oi was Oirish 
afther only foive minuets' talk ! " 

Irving appreciated any little attention or 
compliment. I came across this letter from 
him in acknowledging one of my books : — 



Perhaps no one in our time lent himself 
more to caricature than Irving. He was as 
easy to burlesque with the voice as with the 
pencil. The man who succeeded best with 
both was Fred Barnard. He had an advan- 
tage in being as thin as Irving, and something 
of the same type of face and tone of voice. I 
have drawn more caricatures of Irving and 
have given more imitations, but, being as 
unlike the actor as any man could be, I had 
to depend on voice alone. So much so that, 
once at a garden-party at a house in the 
country, a young lady — afterwards famous as 




a singer — gave an imita- 
tion of Miss Ellen Terry 
as Juliet in the Balcony 
Scene ; I was Irving as 
Romeo, but wisely hid 
myself in a laurel bush 
so as not to destroy the 

One of Irving's com- 
pany at the Lyceum, of 
the name of Lewis, in 
years gone by gave a mar- 
vellous and original imi- 
tation of Irving playing a 
game of billiards. The 
idea was as simple as it 
was ingenious, and had 
one merit over other 
"sketches" of Irving — 
it might have happened. 
Of course it never did, but 
it was possible. Irving is c 

asked bya stranger to play 
a game — a hundred up. 

"Eh? Yes, yes. I don't 
even, eh ? No points — ah ! " 

The M business " was then 
delightfully comic, Irving 
taking off his coat as if 
he was removing a coat- 
of-mail, which he hangs 
tip on a peg with the 
manner of hanging it up 
on a castle wall. Then 
follows the selection of 
the cue, as if choosing a 
double-handed sword for 

combat with Macduff. 
too-o-o long n ; and so on. 
The cue selected, then the 
business of " the chalk " 
(chalking the cue) gave 
scope to the mannerisms 
familiar to all imitations. 

"Shall I break, eh? 
Ha, ha ! " Then came 
the stab at the ball, the 
anxious watching of its 
progress up the table, the 
despair at missing the 

" Ha, ha ! That's one 
to you." And Irving 
marks. And to the end 
he does nothing else, for 
his opponent makes his 
hundred in one break. 


mind. Play 
simple and 


" Ah ! too heavy. 

too-o-o light. Eh ! 



The whole " business " is 
Irving's increasing tragic 
despair, until at the end 
he throws up his arms and 
cries, " Heavens ! And I 
have not had one stroke 
at all ! " 

Irving was a born prac- 
tical joker and enjoyed 
fun. He was always at 
his best after supper, en- 
joying a good long and 
strong cigar. His great 
friend Toole does not 
smoke. Everyone who 
saw Toole in " Walker, 
London " (and who did 
not ?), may not be aware 
of the sacrifice which that 
conscientious comedian 
made at every perform- 
ance in the interests of 
art. He actually smoked 
a cigarette, whilst nicotine 
in any form is obnoxious to him. However, 
to ease the minds of his friends, who I am 
sure could not have enjoyed this most popular 
actor's performance had they 
known he was suffering for their 
pleasure, I had better say that the 
cigarettes were specially made, 
and Toole puffed the innocent 
flower of camomile. Mentioning 
Toole and his cigarette reminds me 
of his great friend Irving 
and the cigarette which 
the latter smoked in the 
first act of "The Corsican 
Brothers." Every cigar- 
ette-smoker envied the 
way in which (apparently) 
Irving rolled that cigarette. 
He placed the paper in 
the palm of his left hand, 
threw some tobacco into 
it, and instantly, with 
one quick movement, the 
cigarette was perfect and 
between his teeth. It was 
pure sleight - of- hand — 
what is known to conjurers 
as " palming " a ready- 
made cigarette, which was 
substituted for the paper 
and tobacco. 

Irving was very liberal 

in his invitations to " go 

behind." Few are aware 

l J," 1CK lH Ort%\r\ t hat Mr. Gladstone once 




appeared on the Lyceum stage. It happened 
thus. It is well known that the Premier and 
Sir Henry Irving had a great admiration for 
each other, and when Mr. Gladstone attended 
the theatre he always went round to Sir 
Henry's room to have a chat. He took quite 
as much interest in the mechanism of the 
arrangements as he did in the intricacies of 
the Home Rule Bill. One night, when "The 
Corsican Brothers " was on the Lyceum 
stage, Mr. Gladstone was missed from his 
box. He was behind the scenes, having 
everything explained to him by Mr. Loveday. 
The music stopped, the players were in their 
places, and the curtain was about to be rung 
up, but Mr. Gladstone was still standing in the 
middle of the stage holding an argument with 
his guide about some detail, or recounting to 
him some theatrical reminiscence of days gone 
by. Mr. Gladstone wanted to see the scene 
through, and had no inclination to return 
to his own box. It was the bal masque scene, 
in which boxes are arranged round the stage 
with people in them. Into one of these Mr. 
Gladstone was hurried ; and although the 
audience saw that he was not in his former 
seat, few, if any, noticed him upon the stage. 
So he in his time played many parts, even 
to that of a super at the Lyceum. 

According to Colour-Sergeant Barry, who 
had for seven-and-twenty years been door- 
keeper at the Lyceum in Irving's time, Mr. 
Gladstone, when he visited the theatre, 
occupied a little wooden seat which had 
been let into the proscenium wall, whence 
he obtained an excellent view of the stage 
without himself being seen by the audience. 

I have never yet been able to analyze the 
mind that invents and circulates lies about 
public men. Malicious inventions may be 
not uncommon among 'Arrys and bounders, 
but that the educated man of the world 
should deliberately lie passes 
all understanding. 

I was entertained at dinner 
in a large provincial town by 
its leading and most important 
citizen — a man of the world 
and a really good fellow at 
heart. The conversation, of 
course, drifted into the most 
general of all social topics of 
the last ten years — the stage, 
when to my utter astonish- 
ment^ our host seriously 
informed myself and his 
friends that he considered 
mummer- worship overdone, 
and gave it as his opinion 


that our actors and actresses were an over- 
rated, self-advertised lot, and illustrated this 
wild assertion by a scene he had himself, 
he said, witnessed in London, He assured 
us that Sir Henry Irving was in the habit of 
driving every morning to the front entrance 
of the Lyceum Theatre and, remaining in 
his well - appointed cab, of calling loudly 
for his letters, which were brought to him, 
there to be opened and read in public. 
Sir Henry amused himself by throwing the 
envelopes into the gutter, to be fought 
for and picked up by his worshippers and 
street boys who were daily attracted to the 
spot by this familiar scene of London life, 
which my host declared he had himself wit- 
nessed. This of Sir Henry Irving, the 
greatest and most modest of all his profession 1 
The other and true side of the picture 
could at that time have been seen at the 
other side of the building. A cab draws up, 
out of which steps the well-known figure of 
Sir Henry, clothed in the most ordinary 
attire. He wears a low-crowned hat, rather 
in want of a brush ; his private key opens a 
little private door, situated in a street deserted 
and practically private, into his private room ; 
he finds his private secretary awaiting him to 
open his private letters. And should my 
informant of the front-door incident happen to 
call, I doubt if he would be granted a peep 
into the privacy of Sir Henry's sanctum. 

Now, a perfectly true story of an actor- 
manager in front of his theatre happened in 
the old days of the Haymarket. Buckstone, 
passing under the portico in front of the 
house late one night, after the theatre had 
been closed, observed an intoxicated man 
vainly endeavouring to light a match, or 
rather several matches, on one of the pillars. 
It so happened Buckstone had just gone to 
the expense of having the front of the theatre 
painted; he could not restrain 
remonstrating with the de- 
structive inebriate. 

" My good man, why do 
that ? I have just had those 
pillars repainted, and I really 
cannot allow my property to be 
utilized for striking matches." 
With that hopelessly con- 
temptuous look peculiar to 
gentlemen in an intoxicated 
condition, the stranger deli- 
berately replied : "Oo are you? 
What d'ye mean? Go away. I — 
I tell you what y* are — you're 
an infernally bad imitation of 

LW.TOlTY¥^te.t B - Bucks, ° ne! " 

Puck of Pook's Hill. 

weland's sword. 
HE children were at the 
Theatre, acting to Three 
Cows as much as they could 
remember of " Midsummer 
Night's Dream." Their father 
had made them a small play 
out of the big Shakespeare one, and they had 
rehearsed it with him and with their mother 
till they could say it by heart. They began 
where Nick Bottom the weaver comes out 
of the bushes with a donkey's head on his 
shoulder, and finds Titania the Queen of the 
Fairies asleep on a bank. Then they skipped 
to the part where Bottom asks three little 
fairies to scratch his head and bring him 
honey, and they ended where he falls asleep 
in Titania's arms. Dan was Puck and Nick 
Bottom as well as the three Fairies. He had 
a pointy-eared cloth cap for Puck, and a real 
paper donkey's head out of a Christmas 
cracker — but it tore if you were not careful 
— for Bottom. Una was Titania, with a 
wreath of columbines and a foxglove wand. 
The Theatre lay in a meadow which the 
grown-ups called the Long Slip. A little mill- 
stream that carried water to a mill two or 
three fields away bent round one corner of it, 
and in the middle of the bend lay a big old 
fairy Ring of darkened grass, which was their 
stage. The mill-stream banks, overgrown with 
willow and alder and hazel and maple, made 
convenient places to. wait in till your turn 
came ; and a grown-up who had seen it said 
that Shakespeare himself could not have 
imagined a more suitable setting for his play. 
They were not, of course, allowed to act on 
Midsummer Night itself, but they went down 
after tea on Midsummer Eve, when the 
shadows were growing, and they took their 
supper — hard-boiled eggs, Bath Oliver biscuits, 
and salt in an envelope — with them. Three 
cows had been milked and were grazing 
steadily with a tearing sound that one could 
hear all down the meadow. ; and the noise 
of the mill at work sounded like bare feet 
running on hard ground. A cuckoo sat 
on a gate-post singing his broken June tune, 
" cuckoo-cuk," while a busy kingfisher crossed 
from the mill-stream to the brook which 
ran on the other side of the meadow. Every- 
thing else was a sort of thick, sleepy stillness 
smelling of meadow-sweet and dry grass. 

The play went beautifully. Dan re- 
membered all his parts — Puck, Bottom, and 

the three Fairies — and Una never forgot a 
word of Titania — not even the difficult bu 
where she tells the Fairies how to feed Bottom 
with apricocks, ripe figs, and dewberries, and 
all the lines end in " ies." They were both 
so pleased that they acted it three times over 
from beginning to end before they sat down 
in the unthistly centre of the Ring to eat 
eggs and Bath Olivers. This was when they 
heard a whistle among the alders on the 
bank, and they jumped. 

The bushes parted. In the very spot 
where Dan had stood as Puck they saw a 
small, brown, broad-shouldered, pointy-eared 
person with a snub nose, slanting blue eyes, 
and a grin that ran right across his freckled 
face. He shaded his forehead with one hand 
as though he were watching Quince, Snout, 
Bottom, and the others rehearsing " Pyramis 
and Thisbe," and, in a voice as deep as Three 
Cows asking to be milked, he began : — 
" What hempen homespuns have we swaggering here, 
So near the cradle of our fairy Queen ?" 

He stopped, hollowed one hand round his 
ear, and, with a wicked twinkle in his eye, 
went on : — 

" What, a play toward ? I'll be auditor, 
An actor too, perhaps, if I see cause." 

The children looked and gasped. The 
small thing — he was no higher than Dan's 
shoulder— stepped quietly into the Ring. 

" I'm rather out of practice," said he ; 
"but that's the way my part ought to be 

Still the children stared at him — from his 

dark blue cap, like a 

big columbine flower, 
At last he began to 

to his bare, hairy feet, 

" Please don't look like that. It isn't my 
fault What else could you expect ? " he 

" We didn't expect anyone," Dan answered, 
very slowly. " This is our field." 

"Is it?" said their visitor, sitting down. 
" Then what on human earth made you act 
1 Midsummer Night's Dream ' three times 
over, on Midsummer Eve, in the middle of a 
ring, and under — right under one of my 
oldest hills in old England ? Pook's Hill — 
Puck's Hill— Puck's Hill— Pook's Hill ! It's 
as plain as the nose on my face." 

He pointed to the bare, fern-covered slope 
of Pook's Hill that runs up from the far side 
of the mill-stream to a dark wood. Beyond 
that wood the ground rises and rises five 
hundred feet, till at last jou climb out on the 

Copyright, 1906, by Rudyard Kipling, in the In: led S:nt«s of Aut^rica. 




bare top of Beacon Hill, where you look over 
the Pevensey Levels and the Channel and 
half the naked South Downs. 

" By Oak, Ash, and Thorn ! " he said, still 
laughing. " If this had happened a few 
hundred years ago you'd have had all the 
People of the Hills out like bees in June !" 

u We didn't know it was wrong," said Dan. 

" Wrong ! n The little fellow shook with 
laughter. " Indeed, it isn't wrong. You've 
done something that kings and knights and 
scholars in the old days would have given 
their crowns and spurs and books to find 
out. If Merlin himself had helped you, 
you couldn't have managed better. You've 
broken the hills — youVe broken the hills ! 
It hasn't happened in a thousand years." 

u We — we didn't mean to," said Una. 

"Of course you didn't. That's just why 
you did it. Unluckily the hills are empty 
now, and all the People of the Hills are gone. 
I'm the only one left. I'm Puck, the oldest 
Old Thing in England, very much at your 
service if — if you care to have anything to do 
with me. If you don't, of course you've only 
to say so, and I'll go." 

He looked at the children and the children 
VoL«xi.-7. , esH ^« 


looked at him for quite half a 
minute. His eyes did not 
twinkle any more. They were 
very kind, and there was the 
beginning of a good smile on 
his lips. 

Una put out her hand. " Don't 
go," she said ; " we like you." 

" Have a Bath Oliver," said 
Dan, and he passed over the 
squashy envelope with the 

" By Oak, Ash, and Thorn," 
said Puck, taking off his blue 
cap, " I like you too. Sprinkle 
a little salt on the biscuit, Dan, 
and 1*11 eat it with you. That'll 
show you the sort of person / 
am. Some of us "—he went on, 
with his mouth full — "couldn't 
abide salt, or horse-shoes over 
a door, or mountain-ash berries, 
or running water, or cold iron, 
or the sound of church bells. 
But I'm Puck!" 

He brushed the crumbs care- 
fully off his doublet and shook 

" We always said, Dan and 
I," Una stammered, "that if 
it ever happened we'd know 
ex-actly what to do ; but — but 

now it seems all different somfehow." 

11 She means meeting a fairy," said Dan. 

" You know, / never believed in 'em — not 

after I was six, anyhow." 

" I did," said Una. " At least, I sort of 

half believed till we learned ' Farewell 

Rewards.' Do you know ' Farewell Rewards 

and Fairies ? ' " 

" Do you mean this ? " said Puck. He 

threw his big head back and began at the 

second line :— 

M Good housewives now may say, 
For now foul sluts in dairies 

Do fare as well as they ; 
For though they sweep their hearths no less 

(" Join in, Una ! ") 

Than maids were wont to do, 
Vet who of late for cleanliness 
Finds sixpence in her shoe ? " 

The echo flapped all along the meadow. 

" Of course I know it," he said. 

11 And then there's the verse about the 
Rings," said Dan. " When I was little it 
always made me feel saddish in my inside." 

" * Witness those rings and roundelays,' do 
you mean ? " boomed Puck, with a voice like 
a great church organ. 




11 All sorts of sacrifices/' said Puck. " If 
it wasn't men, it was horses, or cattle, or 
pigs, or metheglin — that's a sticky, sweet sort 
of beer. I never liked it. They were a stiff- 
necked, extravagant set of idols, the Old 
Things were. But what was the result ? 
Men don't like being sacrificed at the best 
of times ; they don't even like sacrificing 
their farm horses. After a while men simply 
left the Old Things alone, and the roofs of 
the temples fell in, and the Old Things had 
to scuttle out and pick up a living as they 
could. Some of them took to hanging about 
trees, and hiding in graves and groaning o' 
nights. If they groaned loud enough and 
long enough they might frighten a poor 
countryman into sacrificing a hen, or leaving 
a pound of butter for them. I remember one 
Goddess called Belisama. She became a 
common wet water -spirit somewhere in 
Lancashire. And there were Belus and Ceso 
and Curon and Rosmert, and, oh, hundreds 
of other friends of mine. First they were 
Gods. Then they were People of the Hill, 
and then they went to other places because 
they couldn't get on with the English. There 
was only one Old Thing, I remember, who 
honestly worked for his living after he came 
down in the world. He was called Weland, 
and he was a smith to some Gods. I've for- 
gotten their names, but he used to make them 
swords and spears. I think he claimed kin 
with Thor of the Scandinavians." 

" ■ Heroes of Asgard ' Thor," said Una. 

u Yes," answered Puck. u None the less, 
when bad times came, he didn't beg or steal 
He worked ; and I was lucky enough to do 
him a good turn." 

" Tell us about it," said Dan. " I think 
I like hearing of 
Old Things." 

They re-arranged 
themselves com- 
fortably, each chew- 
ing a new grass 
stem. Puck 
propped himself 
on one arm and 
went on : — 

"Well, I met 
Weland first on a 
November after- 
noon in a sleet 
storm, on Peven- 
sey Level " 

11 Close here — 
over the hill, you 
mean?" Dan 
pointed south. 

" Yes ; but it was all marsh in those days, 
right up to Horsebridge and Hydeneye. I was 
on Beacon Hill — they called it Brunanburgh 
then— when I saw the pale flame that burning 
thatch makes, and I went down to look. 
Some pirates — I think they must have been 
Peofn's men — were burning a village on the 
levels, and Weland's image — a big, black 
wooden thing with amber beads round its 
neck — lay in the bows of a black thirty-two- 
oar galley that they had just beached, Bitter 
cold it was ! There were icicles hanging 
from her deck and the oars were glazed over 
with ice, and there was ice on Weland's lips. 
When he saw me he began a long chant in 
his own tongue, telling me how he was going 
to rule England, and how I should smell the 
smoke of his altars from Lincolnshire to the 
Isle of Wight. / didn't care ! I'd seen too 
many Gods charging into Old England to be 
upset about it. I let him sing himself out 
while his men were burning the village, and 
then I said (I don't know what put it into 
my head), * Smith of the Gods,' I said, ' the 
time comes when I shall meet you plying 
your trade for hire by the wayside,' " 

"What did Weland say?" said Una. 
" Was he angry ? " 

" He called me names and rolled his eyes, 
and I went away to wake up the people 
inland. But the pirates conquered the 
country, and for centuries Weland was a most 
important God. He had temples everywhere 
— from Lincolnshire to the Isle of Wight, 
as he said — and his sacrifices were simply 
scandalous. To do him justice, he preferred 
horses to men ; but men or horses, I knew 
that presently he'd have to come down in the 
world — like the others. I gave him lots of 

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Original from 



time — I gave him about a thousand years — 
and in due course I went into one of his 
temples near Andover to see how he pros- 
pered. There was his altar, and there was 
his image, and there were his priests, and 
there were the congregation ; and everybody 
seemed quite happy, except Weland and the 
priests. In the old days the congregation 
were unhappy until the priests had chosen 
their sacrifices ; and so would you have been. 
When the service began a priest rushed out 
and dragged a man up to the altar, pretended 
to hit him on the head with a little gilt axe, 
and the man fell down and pretended to die. 
Then everybody shouted : * A sacrifice to 
Weland ! A sacrifice to Weland ! ' " 

" And the man wasn't really dead ? " said 

" Not a bit. It was all as much pretence 
as a dolls' tea-party. Then they brought out 
a splendid white horse, and the priest cut 
some hair off its mane and tail and burned 
it on the altar, shouting, * A sacrifice ! ' That 
counted the same as if a man and a horse 
had been killed, you see. I saw poor Weland's 
face through the smoke, and I couldn't help 
laughing. He looked so disgusted and so 
hungry, and all he had to satisfy himself was 
a horrid smell of burning hair. Just a dolls' 
tea-party ! 

" I judged it better not to say anything 
then ('twouldn't have been fair), and the 
next time I came to Andover, a few hundred 
years later, Weland and his temple were 
gone, and there was a Christian bishop in a 
church there. None of the People of the 
Hill could tell me anything about him, and I 
supposed that he had left England." Puck 
turned and lay on the other elbow, and 
thought for a long time. 

" Let's see," he said at last. " It must have 
been some years later — a year or two before 
the Conquest, I think — that I came back to 
Pook's Hill here, and one evening I heard 
old Hobden talking about Weland's Ford." 

" If you mean old Hobden the hedger, 
he's only seventy-eight. He told me so him- 
self," said Dan. " He's a intimate friend of 

" You're quite right," Puck replied. " I 
meant old Hobden's ninth greatgrandfather. 
He was a free man and made charcoal here- 
abouts. I've known the family, father and 
son, so long that I get confused sometimes. 
Hob of the Dene was my Hobden's name, 
and he lived at the Ford cottage. Of course, 
I pricked up my ears when I heard Weland 
mentioned, and I scuttled through the woods 
to the ford just beyond Bog Wood yonder." 

Digitized by GOOQ I C 

He jerked his head westward, where the 
valley narrowed between wooded hills and 
steep hop- fields. 

"Why, that's Willingford Bridge," said 
Una. " We go there for walks often. There's 
a kingfisher there." 

" It was Weland's Ford then, dear — almost 
the only one across the marsh. A road led 
down to it from the beacon on the top of the 
hill — a shocking bad road it was — and all 
the hill-side was thick, thick oak forest, with 
deer in it. There was no trace of Weland, 
but presently I saw a fat old farmer riding 
down from the Beacon under the greenwood 
tree. His horse had cast a shoe in the clay, 
and when he came to the Ford he dismounted, 
took a penny out of his purse, laid it on a 
stone, tied the old horse to an oak, and 
called out : ' Smith, smith, here is work for 
you ! ' Then he sat down and went to sleep. 
You can imagine how / felt when I saw a 
white - bearded, bent old blacksmith in a 
leather apron creep out from behind the oak 
and begin to shoe the horse. It was Weland 
himself. I was so astonished that I jumped 
out and said : ' What on human earth are 
you doing here, Weland ? ' " 

" Poor Weland ! " sighed Una. 

11 He pushed the long hair back from his 
forehead (he didn't recognise me at first). 
Then he said : ' You ought to know. You 
foretold it, Old Thing. I'm shoeing horses 
for hire. I'm not even Weland now,' he said. 
'They call me Wayland-Smith.'" 

" Poor chap ! " said Dan. " What did you 

" What could I say ? He looked up, with 
the horse's foot on his lap, and he said, 
smiling, 'I remember the time when I 
wouldn't have accepted this old bag of bones 
as a sacrifice, and now I'm glad enough to 
shoe him for a penny.' 

" ' Isn't there any way for you to get back 
to Valhalla, or wherever you come from ? ' I 

" ' I'm afraid not,' he said, rasping away at 
the hoof. He had a wonderful touch with 
horses. The old beast was whinnying on his 
shoulder. 'You may remember that I was 
not a gentle God in my day and my time 
and my power. I shall never be released till 
some human being truly wishes me well.' 

" ' Surely,' said I, ' the farmer can't do less 
than that. You're shoeing the horse all 
round for him.' 

" ' Yes,' said he, 'and my nails will hold a 
shoe from one full moon to the next But 
farmers and Weald clay,' said he, ' are both 

cold and sour.' 

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11 Would you believe it, that when that 
farmer woke and found his horse shod he 
rode away without one word of thanks ? I 
was so angry that I wheeled his horse right 
round and walked him back three miles to 
the Beacon, just to teach the old sinner 

" Were you invisible ? " said Una. Puck 
nodded, gravely. 

"The Beacon was always laid in those 
days ready to light, in case the French landed 
at Pevensey, and I walked the horse about 
and about it that lee-long summer night. 
The farmer thought he was bewitched — 
well, he was, of course — and began to pray 
and shout I didn't care ! I was as good a 
Christian as he any fair-day in the county, 
and about four o'clock in the morning a young 
novice came along from the monastery that 
used to stand on the top of the hill," 

" What's a novice ? " said Dan. 

" It really means a man who is beginning 
to be a monk, but in those days people sent 
their sons to a monastery just 
the same as a school. This 
young fellow had been to a 
monastery in France for a few 
months every year, and he 
was finishing his studies in the 
monastery close to his own 
home. Hugh was his name, 
and he had got up to go 
fishing hereabouts. His people 
owned nearly all this valley. 
Hugh heard the farmer shout- 
ing, and asked him what in 
the world he meant. The 
old man told him a wonderful 
tale about fairies and goblins 
and witches, and I know he 
hadn't seen a thing except 
rabbits and red deer all that 
night. (The People of the 
Hills are like otters — they 
don't show except when they 
must.) But the novice wasn't 
a fool. He looked down at 
the horse's feet, and saw the 
new shoes fastened as only 
Weland knew how to fasten 
'em. (Weland had a way of 
turning down the nails that 
folks called the Smith's clinch.) 

" * H'm ! ' said the novice. 
' Where did you get your horse 
shod ? ■ The farmer wouldn't 
tell him at first, because the 
priests never liked their people 
to have any dealings with the 

Old Things. At last he confessed that the 
Smith had done it. 'What did you pay 
him ? ' said the novice. 4 Penny,' said the 
farmer, very sulkily. 'That's less than a 
Christian would have charged," said the 
novice. * I hope you threw a " Thank you " 
into the bargain.' *No,' said the farmer; 
4 Wayland-Smith's a heathen.' ' Heathen or 
no heathen,' said the novice, ■ you took his 
help, and where you get help there you must 
give thanks.' ■ What ? ' said the farmer. He 
was in a furious temper because I was walk- 
ing the old horse in circles all this time. 
1 What, you young jackanapes ? ■ said he. 
'Then by your reasoning I ought to say 
"Thank you" to Satan if he helped me?' 
' Don't roll about up there chopping logic 
with me,' said the novice. ' Come back to 
the Ford and thank the Smith, or you'll be 

" Back the farmer had to go. I led the 
horse, though no one saw me, and the novice 
walked beside us, with his gown swishing 

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Original from 



through the shiny dew and his fishing-rod 
across his shoulders like a spear. When we 
reached the Ford again — it was five o'clock 
and misty still under the oaks — the farmer 
simply wouldn't say * Thank you.' He said 
he'd tell the Abbot that the novice wanted him 
to worship heathen gods. Then Hugh the 
novice lost his temper. He just said, ' Out ! ' 
put his arm under the farmer's fat leg, and 
heaved him from his saddle on to the turf, 
and before he could rise he caught him by 
the back of the neck and shook him like a 
rat till the farmer growled, ' Thank you, 
Wayland-Smith.' " 

" Did Weland see all this ? " said Dan. 

" Oh, yes, and he shouted his old war-cry 
when the farmer thudded on to the ground. 
He was delighted. Then the novice turned 
to the oak tree and said, ' Ho ! Smith of the 
Gods, I am 
ashamed of this 
rude farmer ; but 
for all you have 
done in kind- 
ness and charity 
to him and to 
others of our 
people, I thank 
you and wish 
you well.' Then 
he picked up his 
fishing - rod — it 
looked more like 
a tall spear than 
ever — and 
tramped off down 
the valley." 

"And what 
did poor We- 
land do?" said 

"He laughed 
and he cried 
with joy, because 
he had been re- 
leased at last, 
and could go 
away. But he 

was an honest Old Thing. He had worked 
for his living and he paid his debts before 
he left. ■ I shall give that novice a 
gift,' said Weland. 'A gift that shall do 
him good the wide world over. Blow up 
my fire, Old Thing, while I get the iron 
for my last job.' Then he made a sword 
— a dark grey, wavy -lined sword — and I 
blew the fire while he hammered. By Oak, 
Ash, and Thorn, I tell you, Weland was a 
Smith of the Gods ! He cooled that sword 

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in running water twice, and the third time he 
cooled it in the evening dew, and he laid it 
out in the moonlight and said Runes (that's 
charms) over it, and he carved Runes on the 
blade. ' Old Thing/ he said to me, wiping 
his forehead, * this is the best blade that 
Weland ever made. Even the user will 
never know how good it is. Come to the 

" We went to the dormitory where the 
monks slept, and saw the novice fast asleep 
in his cot, and Weland put the sword into 
his hand, and I remember the young fellow 
gripped it in his sleep. Then Weland strode 
as far as he dared into the Chapel and threw 
down all his shoeing-tools — his hammer, and 
pincers, and rasps — to show that he had done 
with them for ever. It sounded like suits of 
armour falling, and the sleepy monks ran in, 

for they thought 
the monastery 
had been 
attacked by the 
French. The 

novice came 
first of all, 
waving his new 
sword and shout- 
i n g Saxon 
bat tie-cries. 
When they saw 
the shoeing-tools 
they were very 
bewildered, till 
the novice asked 
leave to speak, 
and told what 
he had done to 
the farmer, and 
what he had 
said to Wayland- 
Smith, and how, 
though the dor- 
mitory light was 
burning, he had 
found the wonder- 
ful rune - carved 
sword in his bed. 
"The Abbot shook his head at first, and 
then he laughed and said to the novice : 
1 Son Hugh, it needed no sign from a 
heathen God to show me that you 
will never be a monk. Take your 
sword, and keep your sword, and go with 
your sword, and be as gentle as you are 
strong and courteous. We will hang up the 
Smith's tools before the altar/ he said, 
1 because, whatever the Smith of the Gods 
may have been in the old days, we know 





that he worked honestly for his living and 
made gifts to Mother Church/ Then they 
went to bed again, all except the novice, and 
he sat up in the garth playing with his sword. 
Then Weland said to me by the stables: 
j Farewell, Old Thing ; you had the right of 
it. You saw me come to England, and you 
see me go. Farewell ! ' 

" With that he strode down the hill to the 
corner of the Great Woods — Woods Corner, I 
think it is now — to the very place where 
he had first landed — and I heard him moving 
through the thickets towards Horsebridge for 
a little, and then he was gone. That was 
how it happened. I saw it. ' 

Both children drew a long breath, 

11 But what happened to Hugh the 
novice ? " said Una. 

" And his sword ? " said Dan. 

Puck looked down the meadow that lay 

all quiet and cool in the shadow 
of Pook's Hill. A corncrake 
jarred in a hay -field near by, 
and the small trouts of the 
brook began to jump. A big 
white moth flew unsteadily from 
the alders and flapped round the 
children's heads, and the least 
little haze of water-mist rose from 
the brook. 

" Do you really want to know ? " 
Puck said. 

"We do," said the children 
together. "Awfully!" 

"Very good. I promised you 
that you shall see What you 
shall see, and you shall hear 
What you shall hear, though It 
shall have happened three thou- 
sand year ; but just now it 
seems to me that, unless you go 
back to the house, people will be 
looking for you. I'll walk with 
you as far as the gate." 

" Will you be here when we 
come again ? " they asked. 

" Surely, surely," said Puck. 
14 I've been here some time 
already, and I'm too old to 
change my habits. One minute 
first, please." 

He gave them each three 
leaves — one of oak, one of ash, 
and one of thorn. 

" Bite these," said he ; "other- 
wise you might be talking at 
home of what you've seen and heard, and — 
if I know human beings — they'd send for the 
doctor. Bite ! n 

They bit hard, and found themselves 
walking side by side to the lower gate. 
Their father was leaning over it. 

" And how did your play go ? " he asked, 
"Oh, splendidly," said Dan. "Only after- 
wards, I think, we went to sleep. It was very 
hot and quiet. Don't you remember, Una?" 
Una shook her head and said nothing. 
" I see," said her father. 

11 Late — late in the evening Kilmeny came home, 
For Kilmeny had been she could not tell where, 
And Kilmeny had seen what she could not declare". 

But why are you chewing leaves at your 
time of life, daughter ? For fun ? " 

" No. It was for something, but I can't 
azactly remember," said Una. 

And neither of them could till 

(To be continued.) 

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Original from 

The Mutiny on the "Potemkin" 

By A. Kovalenko 

{Former Lieutenant an the battleship " Kniaz Pot em kin Tavrickesky" of the Black Sea Fleet). 


S I said at the end of the last 
chapter, I quickly made up 
my mind to join the mutineers, 
I was about to state my 
decision, when I suddenly 
wondered whether the men 
who had come there really represented the 
wishes of the whole crew, or whether, if I 
stayed, they would understand my reasons, 
or consider me an unwelcome stranger. 

" Matushehenko," I said, "I should con- 
sider it an honour to share the common (ate 
of the crew, but can I be sure that among 
your seven hundred sailors there will not be 
men who will look on me in the light of an 
intruder because I am an officer ? " 

"Will you step aside 
with me?" said Matushe- 
henko. u I want to say a few 
words to you in private." 

We went a little way 
from the group, and he said 
to me in a low voice : — 

"Of course, you under- 
stand that it would not do 
to ask the crew to decide 
whether they would pro- 
pose to such and such in- 
dividual officers to join 
them. Therefore we re 
solved to put the question 
to you all. But I must 
tell you that the crew 
would not only object to 
having most of the officers 
staying, but would even 
refuse to accept some of 
them. As regards yourself, 
I give you my word for it 
that the whole crew to 
a man would be glad to 
take you among them as 
their comrade. If you 
like, in an hour I will bring 
you a paper to that effect 
signed by all the sailors." 

After that no one could 
have hesitated. 

"No, I do not want a "TcW- 

signed paper," I answered, 
" I am ready to stay." 

Vol. xxxi. — 0. Copyright, 1906, 

Matushehenko shook my hand warmly. 

" I knew you would," he said. 

We went back to the officers. They still 
had an uneasy air. 

" Well, gentlemen ? " said Matushehenko. 

As if in answer to him, I said to the 
deputation : — 

" I beg that you will convey my answer to 
the crew, that I will gladly accept the proposal 
to stay, and from this moment am ready to 
the best of my powers to serve the cause of 

The officers all looked at me in astonish- 
ment. One whispered to me : — 

" Why are you doing this ? " 

" Because I am obeying my conscience," I 


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The junior medical officer, Golenko, now 
stepped forward and said to the sailors : — 

" I consider it my duty, as a doctor, not 
to leave the sick and wounded who are 
in my care, and, therefore, I also decide 
to stay." 

The deputation expressed their satisfaction 
at his decision. 

It was now the turn of the other officers. 
Only a few of them said openly that they had 
not sufficient decision to take so grave a 
step. The rest talked incoherently about 
wives and children and families, and walked 
off to get ready to land. The sailors, 
evidently thinking there was nothing else to 
wait for, went away, telling the medical 
officer and myself that they would imme- 
diately make known our decision to the 

We went back to the ward-room. There 
the officers were preparing for departure. 
Now and again some of them would go 
up to the open port-hole and look out 
with anxiety on to the burning harbour, 
where the flames were still casting a red glare 
all round, and one could still hear the reports 
of rifle-shots. On seeing me some of the 
officers asked that I should request the 
council to put them on shore at the safest 
point. I promised to do so and went to 
the admiral's quarters. The council had 
just finished its deliberations and was dis- 
persing. We came to the conclusion that it 
would be best to suggest to the officers that 
they should remain on the Potemkin till the 
morning, as it would then be easier to see 
the safest landing - place. I returned with 
the news to the officers, who, hearing that 
they were to stay on the Potcmktn another 
night, once more meekly began to prepare 
their beds on the ward-room sofas. 

The events of the last two days had tired 
me out, and, without waiting to undress, I 
lay down in my bunk and instantly fell 

It was already past eight when I awoke. 
Having dressed hastily I went to the ward- 
room, where I found Nazarov, a mechanical 
engineer. He was dressed ready for de- 

" Where are the others ? " I asked. 

" They are already on deck. We are just 

I said good-bye to him, but did not go up 
on deck. Nazarov went out, and in a few 
minutes I heard the noise of the launch's 

"They're off," I thought to myself, with a 
sense of relief, 

Digitized by V^OOglC 

I felt distinctly cheerful. There was no 
sentry at the door now ; no harassed, anxious 
officers' faces, no groans about wives and 
children. The sailors I had time to see all 
looked fit and in good spirits. 

I went up on deck, where there were 
already some visitors from shore. They had 
brought news of last night. It appeared that 
towards evening the rougher elements of the 
population had begun to gather in the port. 
The crowd of roughs first sacked the Govern- 
ment wine-shops and got thoroughly drunk. 
Then began a regular orgy. They broke 
down, robbed, and burned all they came 
across. Some threw off their rags in the very 
street and put on the clothing they had 
stolen. Cases of eatables and wines were 
broken open against the stone pavement, the 
contents eagerly swallowed by the mob, and 
empty wine-bottles were thrown over people's 
heads and smashed against walls. The 
workmen attempted to stop this senseless 
pillage, but in vain. Unavailing also were 
their efforts afterwards to restrain the mob by 
force. The crowd of roughs had lost all 
reason and nothing could control them. 

At last troops arrived and began to shoot. 
Wounded and killed fell by dozens. Maddened 
by terror, some of the mob threw themselves 
into the flames and were burned. Cries and 
shrieks filled the streets. These dreadful 
scenes lasted the whole night, and only at 
daybreak the crowd began to disperse. Over 
a thousand were shot down by the soldiers. 

To-day there was a state of depression in 
the city. The senseless outbreak had dis- 
organized the revolutionary forces and had 
demoralized the soldiery. Martial law was 
proclaimed in Odessa. One after another 
new regiments were still arriving, and conflicts 
were even now taking place in the streets. 
To-day an attack on the workmen was ex- 
pected. The situation was becoming graver 
and graver — prompt action was necessary. 

I, with several members of the council, 
went into the ward-room to talk matters over. 
Something must be done to-day, as the 
position of the workmen in Odessa was very 
grave. But before any steps could be taken 
the crew must be got together. 

The drums beat the roll-call, and I went 
up on the poop, where the crew was collect- 
ing. In the centre stood the group of 
councillors and all round them the other 
sailors. They soon filled the whole deck of 
the poop, and some even got up on to the 
tower where the twelve-inch guns stood. 

Everyone looked grave and stood expectant, 
and all eyes were turned to \he council. 




I spoke, then one of the members of the 
council, and finally Matushehenko, who ended 
his speech with these words : — 

" There are some hundred and fifty of us, 
convinced revolutionists, on board. We have 
all decided to stand firm on the side of the 
revolted people, and if necessary to give our 
heads for them. As your fellow-sailors, we 
call upon you to join us in this, and if, as I 
heard a few say to-day, you really want to go 
to Sevastopol, to ask 
for pardon of the 
Czar's officers, we will 
not live to see so 
shameful a thing. We 
will line up, and you 
shall take your rifles 
and shoot us down, 
and then you can go 
to your officers. They 
will meet you with 
music and acclama- 
tions, and give you 
honours and thanks 
and rewards for the 
noble work — selling 
the cause of the 
people's freedom. 
Choose, then — Go 
with us to the struggle, 
or without us to 
Sebastopol ! " 

" Not to Sebas- 
topol ! " roared the 
crowd. "We will 
live or die together ! " 

" Very well, then," 
cont inued Matushe- 
henko. "We shall 
to-day open fire on 
the city to frighten 
them for having shot 
our comrades, the 
consent ? " 

" Yes," came the unhesitating answer. 

After the speech tw f elve sailors, including 
Matushehenko, were sent on shore for 
Vakoulenchouk's funeral. 

It was then decided, before opening fire on 
the city, to find out how the troops were 

About five o'clock, with the greatest diffi- 
culty, we managed to obtain some news. 
Amongst other things, we heard that a 
council was being held in the theatre under 
the presidency of General Kokhanov, who 
was in command of the forces, and that the 
troops were gathered chiefly about the 
theatre. The members of the Potemkirfs 

workmen. Do 


council were all agreed that the theatre 
should be bombarded, and it was immedi- 
ately decided to fire three blank shots to 
warn the peaceful citizens, and then, after an 
interval, to open fire on the building from 
the six-inch guns. 

The call to quarters was beaten and the 
guns were loaded. One after another three 
blank shots were fired. In half an hour the 
shells were got ready. I looked out of a gun- 
port to watch the 
theatre. Then came 
the command/' Fire!" 
and with a roar from 
the gun the shell flew 
booming towards the 
city. I looked hard 
at the theatre, but it 
stood unharmed as 
before, high over the 
other buildings. Evi- 
dently the shell had 
gone past it. Again 
came the signal, and 
again the shot missed. 
I w T as not surprised at 
this, as I knew that 
this was the first time 
the crew had ever had 
any practical firing, 
while, to hit a mark 
from perfectly new 
guns, the captains of 
the guns ought to 
have had some shoot- 
ing to find the range. 
It was decided to 
stop the firing till we 
could get a detailed 
plan of the town and 
learn the exact posi- 
tion of the military 
buildings and the distribution of the forces. 

After that the steam launch was sent off to 
fetch the twelve men who had attended 
Vakoulenehouk's funeral, and all settled down 
quietly to wait for them. 

About nine o'clock in the evening the 
launch returned, but bringing only nine of the 
twelve men. The other three had disappeared 
somewhere on shore. The council was 
immediately called in the ward- room, and we 
had begun discussing further plans when a 
new occurrence distracted our attention. 

Through the open hatchway from the 
upper deck we distinctly heard the sound of 
the wireless telegraph at work. Evidently it 
was receiving a message from somewhere. 
The talk immediately ceased : all jumped to 





their feet, crowded 
to the hatchway, 
and listened 
eagerly. We called 
to the signalman 
on duty and asked 
what it was. 

" We have inter- 
cepted a message," 
he said. " The 
miners are working 
the telegraph." 

Here one. of the 
miners ran up. 

"The fleet is 
not far off!" he 
cried, in an awe- 
stricken tone. 
11 The telegram is 
from the Three 
Prelates calling up 
the battleship 
Twelve Apostles" 

The thrumming of the telegraph began 

The sailor ran to the apparatus, and in a 
few moments returned with a scrap of paper 
in his hand. On it was the message: 
" Three Prelates to Twelve Apostles.— Battle- 
ship Kniaz Potent kin Tavrichesky anchored 
in outer road of Odessa." 

It was clear, therefore, that we might 
expect the fleet from the harbour. 

Naturally the circumstance was so impor- 
tant that all other questions had to be left 
for the present. The greatest excitement 
prevailed. Of what ships was the fleet 
formed? With what intention was it com- 
ing ? There were two possible alternatives. 
The squadron might be seeking the Potemkin 
in order to join us— that, of course, in the 
event of mutiny on the other ships also. 
The other alternative was that the squadron 
had remained on the side of the authorities, 
and was coming under command of its 
officers to take the Potemkin. 

The latter suggestion was the more likely, 
for if the squadron were in the hands of the 
sailors they would probably have sent us a 
wireless message to apprise us of the fact. 

It was therefore decided that as soon as 
the ships came in sight we should go to meet 
them at full speed and fully prepared for 
action. In view of the possibility of the 
squadron's joining us, we would not open fire 
till they had first given us provocation. If, 
however, the other ships commenced hos~ 
tilities we would fight resolutely till we either 
WQn or died. It was decided that in no case 


would we surrender, and, if we were beaten, 
to blow the ship up. The resolution was 
communicated to the rest of the crew, who 
received it with acclamation. Enthusiasm 
ran high, and the fainter-hearted kept quiet. 

After this the order was given to load all 
the guns and for the captains of the guns to 
sleep beside them, to keep up steam as before 
in all the eighteen boilers, and, if necessary, 
to bring into use the other four also, to 
prepare the most important engines and all 
the machinery for action, and to illuminate 
the horizon the whole night with searchlights. 
The launch and the torpedo-boat were to be 
sent out to keep watch. Everyone was to go 
to bed in his clothes, so as to be ready at any 
moment for the call. 

Lastly, to verify the quarter-bill, the call to 
quarters was sounded. All were in their 
places. Everything was done quickly and 
with precision. Then those off duty were 
allowed to go to bed, while the watch went 
to their places. 

It was already midnight when I went to 
my cabin and lay down in my clothes on my 
bunk. I soon went to sleep, but woke up 
frequently. Then I would get up and go' 
on the bridge to see the searchlights, or 
make the round of the ship on all the decks. 
Each time I found the men at their posts, 
and that all performed their duty with the 
utmost care and zeal. 

I was up about five the next morning. 
The Potemkin and the torpedo-boat had got 
up steam and. had weighed anchor, prepared 
for the appearance of the squadron. On the 




Veha, which we had yesterday decided to use 
as a hospital ship, was hoisted a flag with the 
red cross. 

About six o'clock the news spread that the 
squadron was in sight. I rushed up to 
the bridge and, taking a telescope from one 
of the signalmen, looked at the horizon. 
There one could just see the tops of several 

Presently from somewhere came the 
muffled notes of drums and bugles, others 
nearer answered them, and then others again 
from our deck, till the whole ship rang with 
the rousing sounds of the call to quarters. 
I had heard it many a time in practice 
during my term of service, and yet in spite of 
this it now seemed to me to have something 
strange in it, something I had never heard 
before, as if the men had put into it some of 
the enthusiasm and the fighting spirit which 
animated them at that moment. 

Immediately all on board were roused as 
by an electric shock. The men hurriedly 
ran to their places, in a moment all was 
ready, and in the general silence one could 
hear the noise of the engines as the vessel 
began to move. I came out on to the upper 
deck. The Potemkin was pressing forward 
at full speed, noisily cleaving the blue water. 
To our right we saw the shore, and before 
us, with tolerable clearness, the squadron. 
Through a telescope we could distinguish 
that it was made up of the battleships Three 
Prelates, with the flag of the squadron's junior 
commander, Rear- Admiral Vishnevetsky ; the 
Georgiy Pobiedonosetz, the Twelve Apostles, 
a torpedo-cruiser, and six torpedo-boats. 

Suddenly the squadron began to slow 
down, and at length stopped altogether. The 
Potemkin also went more slowly, and then 
the wireless telegraph received a message 
from the admiral's ship : " Sailors of the 
Black Sea, we are deeply grieved at what 
you have done. What do you want, mad- 
men?" We immediately sent the following 
message to the admiral : " If you wish to 
know what we want come on board the 
Potemkin. We guarantee your absolute 
safety." No answer came, and the Potemkin 
once more moved forward. Seeing this the 
squadron turned and made for the open sea 
at full speed. We decided not to pursue it, 
as there was reason to fear mines, and, turn- 
ing again towards Odessa, anchored in the 
same place as before. 

The crew were dismissed from their posts 
and began to come out on deck. The news 
of the squadron's flight was, of course, all over 
the vessel, and the men were in a state of 

great excitement. Caustic remarks were 
hurled from all sides. 

"Funked it, did they?" 

" It isn't so interesting, then, to try the 
Potemkiris shells." 

The men's faith in the Potemkiris power 
had now risen perceptibly. 

" Our battleship must indeed be formidable 
if the whole squadron ran away from it," they 

The incident raised everyone's spirits, and 
dinner, in spite of the fact that owing to the 
scarcity of provisions it consisted almost 
entirely of biscuits and water, was a very 
jovial meal. 

Hardly was the frugal dinner finished 
when the signalman brought us news that the 
squadron was again in sight, and now with 
the addition of two other battleships. 

The men, so jovial a little while ago, all 
looked extremely grave. From the fact that 
the squadron was coming to meet us with 
two other battleships it was evident that it 
had serious intentions. Nevertheless, the 
men were in good spirits, and it was evident 
that nearly all were ready to stand to the end, 
whatever it might be. 

From time to time I ran up on the main 
deck, from where I could see out of the gun- 
ports for some distance. Each moment 
brought us nearer the squadron. At last we 
were near enough to recognise the vessels. 
The new battleships were the Rotislav and 
the Synop. The ships were coming towards 
us in two columns, the battleships and the 
torpedo -cruisers in front, the torpedo - 
destroyer behind. The Potemkin, together 
with the torpedo-boat, which kept alongside 
the whole time, made straight for the centre 
of the first column. Soon we could see that 
the vessels of the squadron were, like the 
Potemkin, prepared for battle, with their 
davits down and guns out. But when 
we were about three hundred yards along- 
side from the squadron, sudden agitation 
began among the crews on the Georgiy 
Pobiedonosetz, the Twelve Apostles, and the 
Synop. The sailors were pressing in crowds 
out of the hatchways, and soon the decks 
were covered with men. We kept straight 
ahead. In a few moments we had met the 
squadron, cutting into the middle of the 
forward column so that the Synop and the 
Georgiy, the Twelve Apostles and the three 
torpedo-catchers were on our right, while 
the Rotislav, the Three Prelates, the cruiser 
Kazarsky, and the three other torpedo- 
catchers were on ,xxur left. Slowly the 
Potemkin levelled- \%- guns Ljon the passing 


battleships. The Rotislav and the Three 
Prelates in ominous silence did the same, 
while on the decks of the three other men-of- 
war the crews were crowding in evident con- 
fusion. Suddenly from the Potemkiris upper 
deck rang the cry, " Long live freedom ! 
Hurrah ! " and in a second it was taken up 
on the other three ironclads —a mighty 
volume of sound thundered across to us in 
an answering cheer. In the ecstasy of this 
unexpected triumph our crew completely lost 
their heads. Forgetting that the guns of the 
other two battleships were still levelled on 
us, the men left their posts, and with shouts 
of " Hurrah !" tore to the 
hatchway in one excited 
stream to gain the upper 
deck. I rushed to the 
ladder and, spreading wide 
my arms to bar the way, 
shouted as loudly as I 
could : — 

" Comrades ! Stop \ n 

Those nearest me fell 
back and stopped the 
coming crowd. 

"There will be time 
enough to answer cheers 
afterwards, but while we 
have a single gun levelled 
at us we must be ready to 
answer shots!" And 
raising my voice once more 
I commanded : — 

" Captains to their guns 
— all to their posts — off, 
sharp ! " 

The men ran to their 
places, and in a moment 
all was in order once more. 

But the cheers had not died down, and 
rang on one deck and then on another till 
the vessels were at a considerable distance 
from us. 

In a few minutes the squadron lay opposite 
and we were in the open sea. From the 
flagship they signalled to us, " Allow us to 
anchor." We answered, "Officers to leave 
the ships and to land." No reply followed. 
On this the Potemkin turned and steamed 
in the direction of the town. The squadron, 
seeing this, made for the open sea. We 
again steered towards the centre of the 
column, and, meeting, cut into it between 
the Synop and the Rotislav. Once more 
cheers rang out from the three battleships, 
while the Three Prelates and the Rotislav 
met us prepared for action. Again we 
passed each other ; and then, to our intense 


From a Photograph. 


surprise, the squadron turned away from 
Odessa towards the open sea. 

This time our men all remained at their 
posts, but everyone who had an opportunity 
of seeing it watched the squadron the whole 
time. When it was already at a considerable 
distance from us the Georgiy Pobiedonosetz 
began to fall behind, and at last stopped. 
The rest of the squadron went on at full 
speed, and was soon out of sight. 

Meanwhile the Georgiy Pobiedonosetz sig- 
nalled to us by means of the semaphore* 
that the crew requested us to send them a 
deputation to explain what had happened to 
the Potemkin. Part of the 
watch, together with Matu- 
shehenko, was immediately 
sent out to them. 

As soon as our men got 
on deck the Georgiy 
Pobiedonosetz^ as they told 
us on their return, they 
were surrounded by a 
dense crowd of sailors, who 
began eagerly asking about 
the events on the Potemkin. 
Matushehenko made a 
speech, giving an account 
of all that had taken place 
on our battleship, and 
adding that the Potemkin 
was the first ship to come 
into the possession of the 
people, as the crew had 
made up their minds to 
stand on the side of the 
nation, who had already 
begun its struggle with 
the Government, and he 
appealed to the crew of 
Georgiy to join the Potemkin, together 

with their battleship. He was answered 
by a cheer from the sailors. Then Kirill 
addressed the officers, who, headed by 
the commander, Captain Gousevich, were 
crowded on the bridge. He told them that 
from that moment the Georgiy Pobiedonosetz 
was in the hands of the people, and hence, as 
the servants of the Czar's Government, the 
officers had no place there and would be put 
on shore. The guard was then called out 
and ordered to arrest the officers, w T ho were 
then and there requested to give up their 
arms and to take off their epaulets. 
Suddenly they heard the report of a pistol, 
and the body of one of the officers fell 
from the bridge into the sea. It was 

* A system of signa 
communication can be held with ship 


flags or lights, by which 
at a great distance. 




Lieutenant Grigorkov, who had shot himself. 
The rest yielded to the inevitable, and were 
placed under arrest. Having been put on 
board a launch they were taken to the side of 
the Potemkin. 

All the warrant-officers were left in their 
positions as on our battleship, and one of 
them, the first boatswain, was elected com- 

I was out on deck when the launch with 
the officers came up. They sat in the boat, 
pale, and surrounded by the convoy. In the 
stern, by the steersman, sat Matushehenko 
with a revolver in his hand. While they were 
making the necessary preparations for the 
torpedo-boat to tow the launch, some of the 
officers noticed me. With evident astonish- 
ment they pointed me out to each other, 
while some of our men were consulting with 
me as to the best place to put them on shore. 
At last the boat was taken in tow, and I came 
to the ship's side with a genuine curiosity to 
see these prisoners. There were several 
officers among them with whom I was well 
acquainted, but now we seemed perfect 
strangers, as if w r e were seeing each other for 
the first time. The torpedo boat moved off, 
towing the launch after it in the direction of 
the shore. 

The Potemkin then resumed its original 
position, and signalled to the Gcorgiy Pobie- 
donosetz to come up and anchor also. It 
approached us at once, and as it passed the 
Potemkin the crew saluted the senior vessel, 
in accordance with all naval rules. The 
crew was lined up on deck, on the bridge 
and at the ladders stood the petty officers 
very erect, saluting, while the bugles sounded 
the signal of greeting. We replied with a 
similar call, and I for my part, standing on 
deck, had great pleasure in saluting our new 
associates. There was a clanking of the 
anchor-chain, and the Gcorgiy Pobiedonosctz 
stopped a little astern of us. 

The joy of the crew knew no bounds, for 
now we had a little revolutionary squadron : 
two men-of-war, a torpedo-boat, and a hos- 
pital ship. With this force we could take 
very strong measures. 

In the evening the council was called in 
the ward room. A deputation from the 
Gcorgiy Polnedonosetz was present and a 
great many of our crew. Everyone was in 
good spirits and the confidence in our 
powers and the enthusiasm was at its height, 
the noise of more than a hundred voices 
filled the room, and I as president had no 
light task to get silence to open the meeting. 

Jt wqs then decided that, if our demands 

were not complied with by the authorities 
next day, we should begin action by sea and 
land to take possession of the town. 

Before going to bed I made the round of 
the decks. The crew was sleeping soundly. 
Only the night watch at their posts were 
still discussing the events with unabated 

That night I could not get to sleep for a 
long time. My imagination drew vivid 
pictures of the great possibilities before us. 
Perhaps to-morrow, I thought, joining forces 
with the revolted populace, we shall take the 
town, and from there kindle the fire of a 
general rebellion through the whole south. 
Then will rise the already restless border- 
lands ; and even if that does not rouse the 
central provinces, and so, in the struggle 
against the yoke of the Czar's government, 
the whole of Russia free itself, at any rate 
the Caucasus, Finland, Poland, and my 
native Ukraina will gain the long-wished-for 
right of organizing the life of the people on 
principles of the beginnings of liberty and 

It was long past midnight when, tired 
with the impressions of the day, I fell sound 

Early next morning I awoke with the 
pleasant memory of what had happened the 
day before. I had decided to keep a diary 
of these interesting events, and was just 
going to put down all that had happened 
up till now when Dymcheuko, one of the 
members of our council, came in. I saw by 
his troubled face that he had brought bad 

" What has happened ? " I asked. 

" Some of the GeorgiVs council have just 
arrived," he replied, sitting down on the edge 
of my bunk, " to say that there is a split in 
the crew." 

" How do you mean a split ? " 

" The greater number, headed by the com- 
mander and the other warrant-officers, insist 
on going immediately to Sebastopol to treat 
with the naval authorities, leaving the 
Potemkin to do as it chooses. The council 
and the more thinking part of the crew are 
not strong enough to withstand this resolve." 

" We must go there at once." 

I dressed hastily and we both went up on 

Dr. Golenko and I, with several other 
members of our council, set out in the steam 

When we came up to the Georgiy almost 
the whole oiiew -was rassembled in the fore- 

"""uNflBflf OTtef de a lad<ler ' 

6 4 


and we went up. The second officer of the 
watch commanded u Order ! " Just as we got 
up to the deck we were met by the com- 
mander, who, without moving from his place, 
as if to prevent us from advancing, said in a 
self-confident tone : — 

" Our crew does not wish to stay with the 
Potemkin, and has decided to go at once to 

" In that case you will allow us to speak 
directly to the crew," I replied, putting out 
my arm to make him get out of the way. 
He looked at me angrily and walked off, and 
we stepped on deck. A commotion began in 
the crowd, and I got upon a pile of beams 
that lay there and addressed the crew. 

When I had done speaking, the crew 

was already under way. We again raised the 
signal, " Georgiy Pobiedonosetz to return and 
anchor in its former position." It went on at 
full speed. Then, having ordered the coaler 
to move away, we beat the call to quarters 
and raised the signal for battle. At the 
sound of the drums and bugles the crew 
ran to their posts and the red battle-flag 
was hoisted. The Georgiy Pobiedonosetz began 
to slow off, turned, and steamed towards us. 
Evidently the threat had produced its effect. 
Presently it got up to us and passed. Think- 
ing that it \vas going to anchor astern of us, 
we lowered the battle-flag. Suddenly the 
Georgiy turned sharply round, and before 
any of us could collect our wits had entered 
the harbour and anchored beyond the break- 


cheered and voices cried that they would act 
in concert with the Potemkin. 

Somewhat reassured, we returned to our 

Suddenly a sailor came running up and 
told us that the Georgiy Pobiedonosetz was 
weighing anchor. We immediately hastened 
up on deck, which was already covered with 
groups of sailors. It was as the man had 
said. We signalled the Georgiy Pobiedonosetz 
not to weigh anchor, but our treacherous ally 

water. Then all of us in a flash understood 
the meaning of the manoeuvre, and a wild 
confusion began on board, in which one could 
distinguish nothing and which it was impos- 
sible to check. 

This treachery produced a very depressing 
effect upon our crew. No one knew what 
to undertake. Some cried, "Sink the 
Georgiy! " Others observed that by firing at 
the man-of war we should do more damage to 



was in shallow water. Imprecations were 
hurled at the traitors. 

Meanwhile launches and boats had set off 
to the Georgiy from shore. 

It was clear that in this state of affairs it 
was useless not 
only to think of 
taking any strong 
measures in re- 
gard to Odessa 
or to the Georgiy 
Pobiedonosetz y 
but even of get- 
ting what we re- 
quired from the 
town. Someone 
suggested that 
we should go to 
one of the Rou- 
manian ports to 
get coal and pro- 
visions. Every- 
one approved of 
the plan, and it 
was decided im- 
mediately to go 
to Constanza. 
We weighed 
anchor, took the 
torpedo boat in 
tow, ordered the 
Veha to follow 
us, and got 
under way. 

It was a bitter 

•our treacherous ally was already under way. 

thing to us, this 

treachery of the Georgiy Pohiedonosetz. The 
cause of our rejoicing yesterday was now the 
cause of our retreat from Odessa. Had the 
man-of-war remained with the squadron our 
crew would have had no fear of it, as they had 
seen how the whole squadron was obliged to 
withdraw from us. But now, in the hands of 
the port authorities, it would become a 
formidable opponent, and could effectually 
prevent us from taking the city. It was the 
most critical day in the revolutionary cam- 
paign. The example, of course, demoralized 
our crew, and from that moment we had to 
struggle with the reactionary forces on board 
which had been effectually silenced before. 

In the afternoon of the 19th o\ June we at 
length came in sight of Constanza. Presently 
we reached the harbour and anchored 

After some time we saw a steam launch 
approaching us from the shore, and could 
see through the telescope that it held two 
Roumanian naval officers. We decided to 
welcome them according to the usages of 

Vol. juxi*— 9. 

international naval etiquette. The watch 
was drawn up on deck, and when they 
stepped on to the ladder we hoisted the 
Roumanian flag and the small guns fired a 
salute. Matushehenko and I, with several 

other members 
of the council, 
met them on 
deck. Having 
exchanged greet- 
ings, we invited 
them to come 
into the ward- 

The senior 
officer, who, it 
appeared after- 
wards, was the 
captain of the 
port, immedi- 
ately entered 
into the question 
of our require- 
ments. He asked 
for a list of what 
we wanted, which 
was immediately 
made out and 
given to him. On 
being asked 
whether we could 
hope to obtain 
permission to get 
what we needed, 
of course pay- 

ing for every- 
thing at once, he replied that, to his regret, 
he could not give it us on his own authority, 
but would telegraph to the Prime Minister 
and would let us know immediately he re- 
ceived an answer. 

One of the Roumanian sailors, who had 
come with the officers and who knew a 
little Ukrainian,* told us that there was a 
report in Constanza that a torpedo-destroyer, 
manned solely by officers, was trying to find 
the Fotemkin to blow it up. We thought it 
was not improbable, and determined to be on 
our guard and to take precautionary measures. 

After some further conversation the two 
officers took their leave and the crew again 
showed them the usual marks of respect. 

The next morning brought us a great dis- 
appointment The Prime Minister had 
telegraphed that it was impossible to accede 
to our request, as it was against the laws of 
international, relations. At the same time a 
telegram cia'ftiiftdlif IWa"" Minister in which he 



proposed that we should give up the battle- 
ship to the Roumanian Government and land 
in Roumania, when he would guarantee us 
full safety, and even offered us passports. 
Our men, who had been sent to bring the 
answer from shore, told us that the authori- 
ties at Constanza strongly advised them to 
act on the Ministers suggestion. 

" Of course, we replied that we would not 
give up the battleship," said Matushehenko, 
who had been one of the envoys, "and 
asked them to allow us to buy provisions, 
as we had been living on nothing but rye 
biscuits and water for nearly three days, 
but they refused even that/' 

The council was called immediately. It 
was decided that we should go to Theodosia, 
and if we were successful in obtaining pro- 
visions we would go on to the Caucasus. 

In one hour the Potemkin and the torpedo- 
boat were once more cleaving the waters of 
the Black Sea, bearing their course towards 

On the 22nd of June, about eight o'clock, 
the Potemkin anchored in the road off the 
port of Theodosia. But the attempt to 
obtain provisions and coal proved an utter 
failure. A newspaper brought from the 


From a -PMo. tyj l^DJWJ AT constanza. 

town informed us that the penitent crew of 
the Georgiy had given up eighty-seven men as 
ringleaders. This had a most depressing 
effect on us. It was decided to return to 

In vain the more thinking and resolute of 
the men tried to persuade the crew to go to 
the Caucasus, or, at any rate, to wait till we 
could ascertain what had happened in the 
meantime. Speeches and persuasions were 
now of no avail. 

The warrant-officer who was doing duty as 
commander immediately gave the order to 
weigh anchor, the crew dispersed to their 
places, and in half an hour we had once more 
put out to sea, heading for the Roumanian 

On the 24th of June, about eleven o'clock 
at night, we arrived at Constanza. As soon 
as we had anchored we heard a voice calling 
us from the shore. Several men set out 
immediately. They were met by a Roumanian 
officer, who asked them why we had come 
back. Hearing of the object of our arrival, he 
began assuring them of the perfect safety of 
the Potemkin $ crew on Roumanian territory. 
In the morning the captain of the port 

arrived and the 
Potemkin was 
given up and 
brought into port, 
where the crowd 
assembled on the 
shore greeted it 
with great accla- 

After dinner we 
all left our battle- 
ship, having first 
sunk our flag in 
the sea, and at 
three o'clock the 
Roumanian flag 
was hoisted in its 

The torpedo- 
boat with almost 
all its crew went 
to Sebastopol, in 
spite of all our 
persuasions to the 

In Constanza 
the two thousand 
four hundred 
pounds which 
were left on the 

UNIVBWTTW MldffeSHr*'* * erQ 



divided among the 

We were soon 
being welcomed by 
the Roumanian 
socialists, of whom 
Dr. Rakevsky was 
particularly helpful 
to us. 

That evening 
Matushehenko and 
I were already in 
civilian dress. All 
the signs of my 
officer's rank, my 
sword, my epaulets, 
and the engineer's 
badge I gave away 
to my new friends. 

The next day 
Kirill, and I were 
at Bucharest. 

In a few days we 
heard that the 
Potcmkin was taken 
back by the Black Sea Squadron which had 
come to Constanza. Alexiev, Kalugnov, all 
the warrant-officers, and about sixty of the 
crew went on board to return to Russia. 

So ended the eleven days of revolution on 
the Potcmkin. 

Those who incline to value every enterprise 
according to its immediate material success, 
and according as it approximates to its con- 
crete aims, regard the revolutionary campaign 
of the Potcmkin as a total failure. But the 
more sagacious, and those who know Russia, 
will at once see the error of this view, as one 
thinks of the enormous moral value of the 
event to the revolutionary movement. 

It is true that the Potcmkin did not fight a 
single battle in the organized forces of 
government or take a single strategic position 
to give a point of support to a national revolt. 
It could not even get its coal or water, and 
finally the battleship, which formed a com- 
plete floating fortress, already in revolutionary 
hands, had to be once more surrendered to 
the Government, 

But all these failures in the career of the 
Potcmkin are quite insignificant in com- 
parison with its success in another direction ; 
for it gave the example, as it were— created 
the precedent of open revolt of the inferior 


From a Photo, by F, Bezancoti. 

ranks in the fighting forces against their 
superior officers, the servants of the oppres- 
sive autocracy. Only those who have an 
intimate knowledge of Russia can appreciate 
the full importance of a precedent of that 
kind. Almost the entire population is dis- 
contented with the existing order (or rather 
disorder) of things. A vast majority of this 
population, the workmen, the peasantry, a 
great part of the educated classes, and even 
some of the reserves and the fighting 
army, have already lost their patience. 
But having no experience in traditions of 
insurrection (such as, for example, the 
Potcmkin) all these disaffected masses can only 
with the greatest difficulty and by the most 
strenuous efforts find the direct and only 
effectual plan of expressing that disaffection 
which is called turning their arms against the 
existing system of government — an open 
national revolt. It is much easier to follow 
an already created example, and such a 
precedent has been given to discontented 
Russia by the crew of the Potcmkin, This 
example has opened the eyes of thousands, 
and will give courage to thousands who have 
hitherto been undecided. In short, it has 
forwarded the development of a national 
Russian revolt in a far greater degree than 
could have done any partial military success. 

Original from 

by Google 

One Hundred Pounds for a Photograph! 


OUR readers will remember that in our July 
number we offered a prize of one hundred 
pounds for the photograph from life most 

nearly resembling one of three original paint- 
ings which were reproduced as copies. The 
exact conditions of the competition were 



(By permission of Henry Graves and Co., 6, PaI^|^rM^a t ^F^AIf Ulg A kj 



stated as follovvs : " The prizes will be taken 
by the competitors who send us a real-life 
photograph in which the lighting of the 
picture, the pose of the sitter, the costume, 
and, as far as possible, the features and 
expression, most closely resemble one of 
these paintings. Competitors may select one 

picture, or may, if they prefer it, send in their 
imitations of all three. Their best attempt 
will be set aside for final judgment The 
first prize, a hundred pounds, will be divided 
equally between the parents of the child and 
the taker of the photograph which, in the 
opinion of the judges, complies most closely 


Photographer : Mr. H. EVERARD, 80, Craven Park 
Sitter: Mm DORIS CROWFOOT, 65, Fortune 

J fr 

'■ 'QGins Jrom 

l f WiUe«dcn Junction, _ 

7 o 


with the above conditions. The second-best 
photograph will obtain thirty pounds, and 
the third-best twenty pounds, divided in the 
same way between the photographer and the 
parents of the child/ 5 

The result of this competition is now 
before us, and on the whole is nearly, if 
not quite, as satisfactory as that of the pre- 
vious competition, in which the paintings 
were portraits of beautiful women. 

This subject, on the whole, produced the 
best results, and one of these, which was 
very nearly good enough to win a prize, had 
a special and curious interest of its own, 
inasmuch as the mother of the little girl 
therein depicted — Mrs. Henry Wells, of 
Wallingford— was, we are informed, herself 
the original little girl who posed as the 
model for Hayllar's painting ! 

The second and third prizes, of thirty and 



(By permission of Henry Graves and Co., 6, Pall Mall, London, S.W.) 

The imitations of two of the paintings out 
of the three were very numerous, and for the 
most part excellent ; the " Head of a Boy," 
by Greuze, alone failing to produce a study 
worthy of obtaining a prize. The first prize 
goes to Mr. Everard, the photographer, and 
to the parents of Miss Doris Crowfoot, the 
charming child-sitter, for the copy of Hayllar's 
painting, "Now, Den, All Turn and Tee 
Me Dump" — a very faithful and admirable 


)y v-i 

twenty pounds respectively, are both won 
by copies of the painting " Fairy Tales," by 
W. C T. Dobson, R.A. These studies, 
which are reproduced on the opposite page 
for the purpose of comparison, are both 
highly creditable to their producers. 

With hearty congratulations to the prize- 
winners, who by the time these lines appear 
in print will have received the cheques to 
which they aro entitled, we bring these most 
intere^ ftl - W3 j n titipn ? j^ :S J | (p f e. 




Photographer : Mr. F1TZ-PATRICK, Montevideo, Uruguay, South America. 

Sitter: Mim DEWHIRST HOGGE, Calle Zabala 63 and 85, Montevideo, Uruguay, South America. 


Photographer: Mr. HERBERT A, GAME, 17. PembrMflf, 

Sitter; Mi*# BARBARA M- GAME, 17, Pembridge P.act, Baytwater, 

The Stroke of the Hour. 

HEY won't come to-night — 

The girl looked again to- 
wards the west, where, here 
and there, bare poles, or 
branches of trees, or slips of 
underbrush marked a road made across the 
plains through the snow. The sun was going 
down golden red, folding up the sky, a wide 
soft curtain of pink and mauve and deep 
purple merging into the fathomless blue, 
where already the stars were beginning to 
quiver. The house stood on the edge of a 
little forest, which had boldly asserted itself 
in the wide flatness. At this point in the 
west the prairie was about to merge into an 
undulating territory where hill and wood 
rolled away from the banks of the Saskatche- 
wan, making another England in beauty. 
This forest was a sort of advance-post of 
that land of beauty. 

Yet there was beauty too on this prairie, 
though there was nothing to the east but 
snow and the forest as far as eye could see. 
Nobility and peace and power brooded over 
the white world. 

As the girl looked, it seemed as though 
the bosom of the land rose and fell. She 
had felt this vibrating life beat beneath the 
frozen surface. Now, as she gazed, she 
smiled sadly to herself, with drooping eyelids 
looking out from beneath strong brows. 

"I know you — I know you," she said 
aloud. " You've got to take your toll. And 
when you're lying asleep like that or pretend- 
ing to, you reach up — and kill. And yet you 
can be kind — ah, but you can be kind and 
beautiful ! But you must have your toll one 
way or t'other." She sighed and paused; 
then, after a moment, looking along the trail, 
" I don't expect they'll come to-night, and 
mebbe not to-morrow, if— if they stay for — 
that I n 

Her eyes closed, she shivered a little. Her 
lips drew tight, and her face seemed suddenly 
to get thinner. " But dad wouldn't — no, he 

couldn't, not considerin' " Again she 

shut her eyes as though distressed. 

Her face was now turned from the western 
road by which she had expected her 
travellers, and towards the east, where 
already the snow was taking on a faint bluish 

Copyright, in United States of America, \y Gilbert barker, 1906. 

tint, a reflection of the sky deepening towards 
night in that half-circle of the horizon. Dis- 
tant and a little bleak and cheerless this 
half-circle was looking now. 

" No one — not for two weeks," she said, 
in comment on the eastern trail, which was 
so little frequented in winter, and this year 




had been less travelled 
would be nice to have a neighbour," she 
added, as she faced the west and the sinking 
sun again. " I get so lonely — just minutes I 
get lonely. But it's them minutes that seem 
to count more than all the rest when they 
come. I expect that's it — we don't live in 
months and years, but just in minutes. It 
doesn't take long for an earthquake to do its 
work — it's seconds then. . . . PVaps dad 
won't even come to-morrow," she said, as she 
laid her hand on the latch. " It never 
seemed so long before— not even when he's 
been away a week." She laughed bitterly. 
" Even bad company's better than no com- 
pany at all. Sure. And Mickey has been 
here always when dad's been away past 
times. Mickey was a fool, but he was com- 
pany ; and mebbe he'd have been better 
company if he'd been more of a scamp and 
less a fool. I dunno, but I really think he 
would. Bad company doesn't put you 
off so." 

There was a scratching at the inside of the 
door. " My, if I didn't forget Shako," she 
said, " and he dying for a run." 

She opened the door quickly, and out 
jumped a Russian dog of almost full breed, 
with big, soft eyes like those of his mistress, 
and with the air of the north in every motion 
— like his mistress also. 

11 Come, Shako, a run — a run ! " 

An instant after she was flying off on a 
path towards the woods, her short skirts 
flying and showing limbs as graceful and 
shapely as any woman of that world of social 
grace which she had never seen ; for she 
was a prairie girl through and through, bom 
on the plains and fed on its scanty fare — 
scanty as to variety, at least. Backwards 
and forwards they ran, the girl shouting like 
a child of ten — she was twenty-three — her 
eyes flashing, her fine, square, white teeth 
showing, her hands thrown up in sheer 
excessi i hflf : primal q differ Jaer - dpair blowing 



about her face— brown strong hair, wavy 
and plentiful. 

Fine creature as she was, her finest features 
were her eyes and her hands. The eyes 
might have been found in the most savage 
places ; the hands, however, only could have 
come through breeding. She had got them 
honestly. For her mother was descended 
from an old family of the French province 
— that was why she had the name of Loisette 
— and had the same characteristics. It was 
the strain of the patrician in the full blood of 
the peasant ; but it gave her something which 
made her what she was — what she had been 
since a child, noticeable and besought, some- 
times beloved. It was too strong a nature 
to compel love often — it never failed to 
compel admiration. Not greatly a creature 
of words, she had become 
moody of late ; and even 
now, alive w r ith light and 
feeling and animal life, she 
suddenly stopped her romp 
and run and called the dog to 

"Heel, Shako!" she said, 
and made for the door of the 
little house, which looked so 
snug and home - like. She 
paused before she came to the 
door, to watch the smoke curl- 
ing up from the chimney 
straight as a column, for there 
was not a breath of air stirring. 
The sun was almost gone and 
the strong bluish light was 
settling on everything, giving 
even the green spruce trees 
a curious burnished tone. 

Swish ! Thud ! She faced 
the woods quickly. It was 
only a sound that she had 
heard over and over again, 
how many hundreds of times ! 
It was the snow slipping from 
some broad branch of the fir 
trees to the ground. Yet she 
started now. Something was 
on her mind, agitating her 
senses, affecting her self- 

" I'll be jumping out of my 
boots when the fire snaps, or 
the frost cracks the ice, next," she said 
aloud, contemptuously* "I dunno what's 
the matter with me. I feel as if someone 
was hiding somewhere ready to pop out on 
me. I haven't never felt like that before." 

She had formed the habit of talking to 

Vol. xxxi.— 10* 

herself, for it had seemed at first, as she was 
left alone when her father went trapping or 
upon journeys for the Government, that by 
and by she would jump at the sound of her 
own voice, if she didn't think aloud. So she 
was given to soliloquy, defying the old belief 
that people who talked to themselves were 
going mad. She laughed at that She said 
that birds sang to themselves and didn't go 
mad, and crickets chirruped, and frogs 
croaked, and owls hooted, and she would 
talk and not go crazy either. So she talked 
to herself and to Shako when she was alone. 

How quiet it was inside when her light 
supper was eaten, bread and beans and pea- 
soup — she had got this from her French 
mother. Now she sat, her elbows on her 
knees, her chin on her hands, looking into 

"she sat looking into the fire. 

the fire. Shako was at her feet upon the 
great musk-ox rug which her father had got 
on one of his hunting trips in the Athabasca 
country years ago. It belonged as she 
belonged, ofr-i [breathed of the life of the 

-nteM^ite^ the hut were 



hewn cedar ; the rough chimney, the seats, 
and the shelves on which a few books made 
a fair show beside the bright tins and the 
scanty crockery, were of pine ; and the 
horned heads of deer and wapiti made pegs 

for coats and caps, and rests for 

guns and 
it had an 

quiet, and only the dog's 

rifles. It was a place of comfort w 
air of well-tcvdo thrift, even as the girl's dress, 
though plain, was made of good sound stuff, 
grey, with a touch of dark red to match the 
auburn of her hair. 

A book lay open in her lap, but she had 
scarcely tried to read it. She had put it 
down after a few moments fixed upon it. It 
had sent her thoughts off into a world where 
her life had played a part too big for books, 
too deep for the plummet of any save those 
who had lived through the flame of life's 
trials— and life when it is bitter to the young 
is bitter with an agony the old never know. 
At last she spoke to herself. 

" She knows now ! Now she knows what 
it is, how it feels — your heart like red-hot 
coals, and something in your head that's like 
a turnscrew, and you want to die and can't — 
for you've got to live and suffer." 

Again she was 
heavy breathing, 
the snap of the 
fire, or the crack 
of a timber in 
the deadly frost 
broke the 
silence. Inside it 
was warm and 
bright and 
home-like ; out- 
side it was twenty 
degrees below 
zero, and like 
some vast tomb 
where life itself 
was congealed 
and only the 
white stars, low, 
twinkling, and 
quizzical, lived 
— a life of sharp 
corrosion, not of 

Suddenly she 
raised her head 
and listened. 
The dog did the 
same. None but 
those whose lives 
are lived in 
lonely places can 

be SO aCUte, SO « H R swayed and would) ifcAVE 

sensitive to sound. It was a feeling deli- 
cate and intense, the whole nature getting 
the vibration. You could have heard no- 
thing had you been there — none but one 
who was of the wide spaces could. But the 
dog and the woman felt, and both strained 
towards the window. Again they heard and 
started to their feet. It was far, far away, 
and still you could not have heard ; but now 
they heard clearly — a cry in the night, a cry 
of pain aed despair. The girl ran to the 
window and pulled aside the bearskin 
curtain which had completely shut out the 
light. Then she stirred the fire, threw a log 
upon it, snuffed the candles, hastily put on 
her moccasins, a fur coat, wool cap, and 
gloves, and went to the door quickly, the 
dog at her heels. Opening it, she stepped 
out into the night. 

" Qui va la ? Who is it ? Where ? " she 
called, and strained towards the west. She 
thought it might be her father or Mickey, the 
hired man, or both. 

The answer came from the east, out of the 
homeless, neighbourless, empty east — a cry, 
louder now. There were only stars, and 
the night was dark, though not deep dark. 

She sped along 
the prairie road 
as fast as she 
could, once or 
twice stopping 
to call aloud. 
In answer to her 
calls the voice 
sounded nearer 
and nearer. Now 
suddenly she left 
the trail and 
bore away north- 
ward. At last 
the voice was 
very near. Pre- 
sently a figure 
appeared ahead, 
staggering to- 
wards her. 

" Qui va & f 
Who is it?" she 

" B a ' t i S t e 
Caron," was the 
reply in English, 
in a faint voice. 
She was beside 
him in an 

"What has 

•—* "uircaaTO Shi^T ned? Why 



are you off the trail?" she said, and sup- 
ported him. 

"My Indian stoled my dogs and run off," 
he said. "I run after. Then, when I am 
to come to the trail "—he paused to find the 
English word, and could not—" encore to 
this trail I no can. So. Ah, ban Dieu, it 
has so awful ! " He swayed and would have 
fallen, but she caught him, bore him up. 
She was so strong, and he was as slight as a 
girl, though tall. 

" When was that? " she asked. 

"Two nights— ago," he answered, and 

" Wait," she 
and pulled 

a flask 
t h i s — 

from her 
quick ! " 

He raised it to his 
lips, but her hand 
was still on it, and 
she only let him take 
a little. Then she 
drew it away, though 
she had almost to 
use force, he was so 
eager for it. Now 
she took a biscuit 
from her pocket. 

* Eat ; then some 
more brandy after," 
she urged. "Come 
on ; it's not far. See 
— there's the light," 
she added, cheerily, 
raising her head to- 
wards the hut. 

" I saw it just 
when I have fall 
down — it safe me. 
I sit down to die — 
like that ! But it 
safe me — that light 
— so. Ah, ton Dieu, 
it was so far, and 
I want eat so." 

Already he had swallowed the biscuit. 

"When did you eat last?" she asked, as 
she urged him on. 

"Two nights— except for one leetla piece 
of bread — I fin' it in my pocket. Grace I I 
have travel so far. Jesu y I think it ees ten 
thousan' miles I go. But I mus' go on, I 
mus* go — certainemcnt I " 

The light came nearer and nearer. His 
footsteps quickened, though he staggered 
now and then, and went like a horse that 
has run its race, but is driven upon its 

course again, going heavily with mouth open 
and head thrown forward and down. 

" But I mus' to get there, an' you — you 
will to help me, eh ? " 

Again he swayed, but her strong arm held 
him up. As they ran on, in a kind of dog- 
trot, her hand firm upon his arm—he seemed 
not to notice it — she became conscious, 
though it was half dark, of what sort of man 
she had saved. He was about her own 
age, perhaps a year or tw r o older, with little, 
if any, hair upon his face, save a slight 
moustache. His eyes, deep sunken as they 

were, she made out 
were black, and the 
face, though drawn 
and famished, had 
a handsome look, 
reminding her of 
someone she had 
once known. Pre- 
sently she gave him 
anot her sip of 
brandy, and he 
quickened his steps, 
speaking to himself 
the while. 

" I haf to do it— 
if I lif. It is to go, 


go, go, till I get 

Now they came to 
the hut where the 
firelight flickered on 
the window - pane ; 
the door w r as flung 
open, and, as he 
stumbled on the 
threshold, she helped 
him into the warm 
room. She almost 
pushed him over to 
the fire. 

Divested of his 
outer coat, muffler, 
cap, and leggings, 
he sat on a bench 
before the fire, his 
eyes wandering from the girl to the flames, 
and his hands clasping and unclasping 
between his knees. His eyes dilating with 
hunger, he watched her preparations for 
his supper ; and when at last — and she had 
been but a moment — it was placed before 
him, his head swam, and he turned faint with 
the stress of his longing. He would have 
swallowed a basin of pea-soup at a draught, 
but she stopped him, holding the basin till 
she thought he might venture again. Then 

came i.*Efert i f'^itw.^ eat which she 


7 6 


toasted at the fire and laid upon his plate. 
They had not spoken since first entering the 
house, when tears had shone in his eyes, and 
he had said : — 

u You have safe, ah, you have safe me, and 
so I will do it yet by help, bon Dieu—yes." 

The meat was done at last, and he sat with 
a great dish of tea beside him, and his pipe 

" What time, if please ? " he asked. " I 
think nine hour, but not sure." 

11 It is near nine," she said. She hastily 
tidied up the table after his meal, and then 
came and sat in 
her chair over 
against the wall of 
the rude fireplace. 

" Nine — dat is 
good. The moon 
rise at 'leven; den 
I go. I go on," he 
said, "if you show 
me de quick way." 

11 You go on — 
how can you go 
on?" she answered, 
almost sharply. 

"Will you not 
to show me ? " he 

"Show you 
what ? " she asked, 

" The quick way 
to Akatoon," he 
said, as though 
surprised that she 
should ask. " They 
say me if I get 
here you will tell 
me quick way to 
Akatoon. Time, 
he goes so fas', an' 
I have loose a day 
an' a night, an' I 
mus' get Akatoon 
if I lif — I mus' get 
dere in time. It 
of de hour, mais, 
— it is like perdition to me 
me — no ? " 

"The stroke of the hour — the stroke of 
the hour ! " It beat into her brain. Were 
they both thinking of the same thing now ? 

" You will show me quick way. I mus' be 
Akatoon in two days, or it is all over," he 
almost moaned. " Is no man here — I forget 
dat name, my head go round like a wheel ; 
but I know this place, an' de good God he 

help me fin' my way to where I call out, bien 
stir. Dat man's name I have forget." 

"My father's name is John Alroyd," she 
answered, absently, for there were hammering 
at her brain the words, " The stroke of the 


" Ah, now 
ees Loisette 


is all 

safe to de stroke 
it is — bon Dieu ! 
Who shall forgif 

I get — yes. An' your name, it 
Alroy'— ah, I have it in my 
mind now — Loisette. I not forget dat name 
— I not forget you — no." 

" Why do you want to go the ' quick ' way 
to Akatoon ? " she asked. 

He puffed a moment at his pipe before he 

answered her. Pre- 
sently he said, 
holding out his 
pipe, " You not like 
smoke, mebbe ? " 

She shook her 
head in negation, 
making an im- 
patient gesture. 

" I forget ask 
you," he said. "Dat 
journee make me 
forget. When 
Indian Jo, he leave 
me with the dogs, 
an* I wake up all 
alone, an' not know 
my way — not Hke 
Jo, I think I die, 
it ees so bad, so 
terrible in my head. 
Not'ing but snow, 
noting. But dere 
ees de sun ; it 
shine. It say to 
me, 'Wake up, 
Ba'tiste ; it will be 
all right bime-bye/ 
But all time I t'ink 
I go mad, for I 
mus' get Akatoon 
before — dat" 

She started. Had 
she not used the 
same word in thinking of Akatoon. " That" 
she had said. 

" Why do you want to go the * quick ' way 
to Akatoon ? " she asked again, her face 
pale, her foot beating the floor impatiently. 

" To save him before dat! * he answered, 
as though she knew of what he was speaking 
and thinking. 

"What is that?" she asked. She knew 

now, surely, but she must ask it nevertheless. 

" Dat hanging - of Hainan," he answered. 

He n^Jj^f^^ipf^CH^ he took to 




gazing into the fire. His lips moved as 
though talking to himself, and the hand that 
held the pipe lay forgotten on his knee. 

"What have you to do with Haman?" 
she asked, slowly, her eyes burning. 

" I want save him — I mus' give him free." 
He tapped his breast. " It is here to mak' 
him free." He still tapped his breast. 

For a moment she stood frozen still, her 
face thin and drawn and white ; then sud- 
denly the blood rushed back into her face 
and a red storm raged in her eyes. 

She thought of the sister, younger than 
herself, whom Joel Haman had married and 
driven to her grave within a year — the sweet 
Lucy, with the name of her father's mother. 
All English Lucy had been in face and 
tongue, a flower of the west, driven to dark- 
ness by this horse-dealing brute, who, before 
he was arrested and tried for murder, was 
about to marry Kate Wimper. Kate Wimper 
had stolen him from Lucy before Lucy's 
first and only child was born, the child that 
could not survive the warm mother-life with- 
drawn, and so had gone down the valley 
whither the broken-hearted mother had fled. 
Kate Wimper, who before that had waylaid 
the one man for whom she herself had ever 
cared, and drawn him from her side by such 
attractions as she herself would keep for an 
honest wife, if such she ever chanced to be. 
And an honest wife she would have been had 
Kate Wimper not crossed the straight path 
of her life. The man she had loved was 
gone to his end also, reckless and hopeless, 
after he had thrown away his chance of a 
lifetime with Loisette Alroyd. There had 
been left behind this girl, to whom tragedy 
had come too young, who drank humiliation 
with a heart as proud as ever straightly set 
its course through crooked ways. 

It had hurt her, twisted her nature a little, 
given a fountain of bitterness to her soul, 
which welled up and flooded her life some- 
times. It had given her face no sourness, 
but it put a shadow into her eyes. 

She had been glad when Haman was con- 
demned for murder, for she believed he had 
committed it, and ten times hanging could 
not compensate for that dear life gone from 
their sight — Lucy, the pride of her father's 
heart. She was glad when Haman was con- 
demned, because of the woman who had 
stolen him from Lucy, because of that other 
man, her lover gone out of her own life. The 
new hardness in her rejoiced that now the 
woman, if she had any heart at all, must have it 
bowed down by this supreme humiliation and 
wrung by the ugly tragedy of the hempen rope. 

And now this man before her, this man 
with a boy's face, with the dark luminous 
eyes, whom she had saved from the frozen 
plains, he had that in his breast which would 
free Haman, so he had said. A fury had its 
birth in her at that moment. Something 
seemed to seize her brain and master it, 
something so big that it held all her faculties 
in perfect control, and she felt herself in an 
atmosphere where all life moved round her 
mechanically, she herself the only sentient 
thing, so much greater than all she saw, or 
all that she realized by her subconscious self. 
Everything in the world seemed small. How 
calm it was even with the fury within. 

"Tell me," she said, quietly — "tell me 
how you are able to save Haman?" 

" He not kill Wakely. It is my brudder 
Fadette dat kill and get away. Haman he 
ees drunk, and everyt'ing seem to say Haman 
he did it, an' everyone know Haman ees not 
friend to Wakely. So the juree say he must 
be hanging. But my brudder he go to die 
with hawful bad cold quick, an' he send for the 
priest an' for me, an' tell all. I go to Governor 
with the priest, an' Governor gif me dat 
writing here." He tapped his breast, then 
took out a wallet and showed the paper to 
her. " It is life of dat Haman, void. And 
so I safe him for my brudder. Dat was a 
bad boy, Fadette. He was bad all time since 
he was a baby, an' I t'ink him pretty lucky to 
die on his bed, an' get absolve, an' go to 
purgatore. If he not have luck like dat he 
go to perdition, an' stay there." 

He sighed, and put the wallet back in his 
breast carefully, his eyes half shut with 
weariness, his handsome face drawn and 
thin, his limbs lax with heaviness. 

" If I get Akatoon before de time for dat, 
I be happy in my heart, for dat brudder off* 
mine he get out of purgatore bime-bye, I t'ink." 

His eyes were almost shut, but he drew 
himself together with a great effort, and 
added desperately : " No sleep. If 1 sleep it 
ees all smash. Man say me I can get to 
Akatoon by dat time from here, if I go quick 
way across lak' — it is all frozen now, dat 
lak' — an' down dat Foxtail Hills. Ees it so, 

" By the 'quick' way if you can make it in 
time," she said ; " but it is no way for the 
stranger to go. There are always bad spots 
on the ice — it is not safe. You could not 
find your way." 

" I mus' get dere in time," he said, des- 

" You can'tj j<jlfa | if— alone," she said. " Do 

y° u mtm\ '^urttostfH' 



He frowned in self-suppression. " Long 
way — I no can get dere in time ? " he asked. 

She thought a moment " No ; it can't 
be done by the long way. But there is 
another way — a third trail, the trail the 
Gover'ment men made a year ago when they 
came to survey. It is a good trail. It is 
blazed in the woods and staked on the plains. 
You cannot miss. But— but there is so little 
time." She looked at the clock on the wall. 
" You cannot leave here much before sunrise, 
and -" 

" I will leef when de moon rise, at eleven," 
he interjected. 

"You have had no sleep for two nights, 
and no food. You can't last it out," she 
said, calmly. 

The deliberate look on his face deepened 
to stubbornness. 

" It ees my vow to my brudder — he ees 
in purgatore. I mus' do it," he rejoined, 
with an emphasis there was no mistaking. 
" You can show me dat way ? " 

She went to a drawer and took out a piece 
of paper. Then, with a point of blackened 
stick, as he watched her and listened, she 
swiftly drew his route for him. 

"Yes, I get it in my head," he said. "I 
go dat way, but I wish — I wish it was dat 
quick way. I have no fear, not'ing. I go 
w'en dat moon rise — I go, bien sur" 

" You must sleep, then, while I get some 
food for you." She pointed to a couch in a 
corner. "I will wake you when the moon 

For the first time he seemed to realize her, 
for a moment to leave the thing which con- 
sumed him, and put his mind upon her. 

" You not happy — you not like me here ? " 
he asked, simply ; then added, quickly, " I am 
not bad man like my brudder — no." 

Her eyes rested on him for a moment as 
though realizing him, while some thought was 
working in her mind behind. 

" No, you are not a bad man," she said. 
" Men and women are equal on the plains. 
You have no fear — I have no fear." 

He glanced at the rifles on the walls, then 
back at her. " My mudder — she was good 
woman. I am glad she not lif to know what 
Fadette do." His eyes drank her in for a 
minute, then he said, "I go sleep now, 
t'ank you — till moontime." 

In a moment his deep breathing filled the 
room — the only sound save for the fire 
within and the frost outside. 

Time went on. The night deepened. 

Loisette sat beside the fire, but her body 

was half-turned from it towards the man on 
the sofa. She was not agitated outwardly, 
but within there was that fire which burns up 
life and hope and all the things that come 
between us and great issues. It had burned 
up everything in her except one thought, one 
powerful motive. She had been deeply 
wronged, and justice had been about to give 
" an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth." 
But the man lying there' had come to sweep 
away the scaffolding of justice — he had come 
for that. 

Perhaps he might arrive at Akatoon before 
the stroke of the hour, but still he would be 
too late, for in her pocket now was the 
Governor's reprieve. The man had slept 
soundly. His wallet was still in his breast ; 
but the reprieve was with her ! 

If he left without discovering his loss, and 
got well on his way and even knew it then, it 
would be too late. If he returned— she only 
saw one step before her, she would wait for 
that, and deal with it when it came. She 
was thinking of Lucy, of her own lover 
ruined and gone. She was calm in her 

At the first light of the moon she roused 
him. She had put food into his fur-coat 
pocket, and after a bowl of hot pea-soup, 
while she told him his course again, she opened 
the door, and he passed out into the night. 
He started forward without a word, but came 
back again and caught her hand. 

" Pardon" he said ; " I go forget everything 
except dat. But I t'ink what you do for me, 
it ees better than all my life. Bien stir, I 
will come again, when I get my mind to 
myself. Ah, but you are beautibul," he said, 
" an' you not happy. Well, I come again — 
yes, a Dieu I " 

He was gone into the night, with the moon 
silvering the sky, and the steely frost eating 
into the sentient life of this northern world. 
Inside the house, with the bearskin blind 
dropped at the window again, and the fire 
blazing high, Loisette sat with the Governor's 
reprieve in her hand. Looking at it, she 
wondered why it had been given to Ba'tiste 
Caron, and not to a police-officer. Ah, yes, 
it was plain. Ba'tiste was a woodsman and 
plainsman, and could go far more safely than 
a policeman, and faster. Ba'tiste had reason 
for going fast, and he would travel night and 
day — he was travelling night and day indeed. 
And now Ba'tiste might get there, but the 
reprieve would not. He would not be able 
to stop the hanging of Joel Haman — the 
hanging of Joel Hamai\ 

A *mmt oPMan Her eye5 



blazed, her breast heaved now. She had 
been so quiet, so cold and still. But life 
seemed moving in her once again. The 

he had sat hours before. Why did Ba'tiste 
haunt her so? What was it he had said 
in his broken English as he went away ? — 


woman, Kate Wimper, who had helped to 
send two people to their graves, would now 
drink the dregs of shame, if she was capable 
of shame — would be robbed of her happi- 
ness, if so be she loved Joel Haman. 

She stood up, as though to put the paper in 
the fire, but paused suddenly at one thought 
— Joel Haman was innocent of murder. 

Even so, he was not innocent of Lucy's 
misery and death, of the death of the little 
one who only opened its eyes to the light for 
an instant, and then went into the dark 
again. But truly she was justified ! When 
the man was gone things would go on just 
the same — and she had been so bitter, her 
heart had been pierced as with a knife these 
past three years. Again she held out her 
hand to the fire, but suddenly she gave a little 
cry and put her hand to her head There 
was Ba'tiste ! 

What was Ba'tiste to her ? Nothing — 
nothing at ail. She had saved his life — even 
if she wronged Ba'tiste, her debt would be 
paid. No, she would not think of Ba'tiste. 
Yet she did not put the paper in the fire, 
but in the pocket of her dress. Then she 
went to her room, leaving the door open. 
The bed was opposite the fire, and as she 
lay there — she did not take off her clothes, 
she knew not why— she could see the flames. 
She closed her eyes, but could not sleep, 
and more than once when she opened them 
she thought she saw Ba'tiste sitting there as 

that he would come back ; that she was 
" beautibul." 

All at once as she lay still, her head 
throbbing, her feet and hands icy cold, she 
sat up listening. 

"Ah — again!" she cried. She sprang 
from her bed, rushed to the door, and strained 
her eyes into the silver night. She called into 
the icy void : " Qui va la ? Who goes ? " 

She leaned forward, her hand at her ear, 
but no sound came in reply. Once more 
she called, but nothing answered. The night 
was all light, and frost, and silence. 

She had only heard, in her own brain, the 
iteration of Ba'tiste's calling. Would he 
reach Akatoon in time, she wondered, as 
she shut the door ? Why had she not gone 
with him and attempted the shorter way — 
the "quick" way, he had called it? All at 
once the truth came back upon her, stirring 
her now. It would do no good for Ba'tiste 
to arrive in time. He might plead to them 
all and tell the truth about the reprieve, but 
it would not avail — Joel Haman would hang. 
That did not matter— even though he was 
innocent ; but Ba'tiste's brother would be so 
long in purgatory. And that would not 
matter ; but she would hurt Ba'tiste — Ba'tiste 
— Ba'tiste. And Ba'tiste, he would know 
that she— and he had called her " beautibul " 
— that she had 

With a cry she suddenly clothed herself for 

trave liNr^R:?Pf^Wclfl^ir d drink in 



a leather bag and slung them over her 
shoulder. Then she dropped on a knee and 
wrote a note to her father, tears falling from 
her eyes. She heaped wood on the fire and 
moved towards the door. All at once she 
turned to the crucifix on the wall which had 
belonged to her mother, and, though she had 
followed her father's Protestant religion, she 
kissed the feet of the sacred figure. 

"Oh, Christ, have mercy on me, and 
bring me safe to my journey's end — in time ! " 
she said, breathlessly ; then went softly to 
the door, leaving the dog behind. 

It opened, closed, and the night swallowed 
her. Like a ghost she sped the "quick" 
way to Akatoon. She was six hours behind 
Ba'tiste, and, going hard all the time, it was 
doubtful if she could get there before the 
fatal hour. 

On the trail 
Ba'tiste had 
taken there were 
two huts where 
he could rest and 
sleep, and he 
had carried his 
blanket slung on 
his shoulder. 
The way she 
went gave no 
shelter save the 
trees and caves 
which had been 
used to cache 
buffalo meat and 
hides in old days. 
But beyond this 
there was danger 
in travelling by 
night, for the 
springs beneath 
the ice of the 
three lakes she 
must cross made 
it weak and rot- 
ten even in the 
fiercest weather, 
and what would 
no doubt have 
been death to 
Ba'tiste would be 
peril at least to 
her. Why had she not gone with him ? 

" He had in his face what was in Lucy's," 
she said to herself, as she sped on. "She 
was fine like him— ready to break her heart 
for those she cared for. My, if she had seen 
him first instead of " 


her foot, and she only sprang back in time to 
save herself. But she trotted on, mile after 
mile, the dog-trot of the Indian, head bent 
forward, toeing in, breathing steadily but 

The morning came, noon, then a fall of 
snow and a keen wind, and despair in her 
heart ; but she had passed the danger-spots, 
and now, if the storm did not overwhelm her, 
she might get to Akatoon in time. In the 
midst of the storm she came to one of the 
caves of which she had known. Here was wood 
for a fire, and here she ate, and in weariness 
unspeakable fell asleep. When she waked it 
was near sundown, the storm had ceased, and, 
as on the night before, the sky was stained 
with colour and drowned in splendour. 

"I will do it— I will do it, Ba'tiste !" she 

ca lied, and 
laughed aloud 
into the sunset. 
She had battled 
with herself all 
the way, and she 
had conquered. 
Right was right, 
and Joel Haman 
must not be 
hung for what 
he did not do. 
Her heart hard- 
ened whenever 
she thought of 
the woman, but 
softened again 
when she thought 
of Ba'tiste, who 
had to suffer for 
the deed of a 
brother in " pur- 
gatore. 1 ' Once 
again the night 
and its silence 
and loneliness 
followed her, the 
only living thing 
near the trail till 
long after mid- 
night. After that, 
as she knew, 
there were 

houses here and 
there where she might have rested, but she 
pushed on unceasing. 

At daybreak she fell in with a settler going 
to Akatoon with his dogs. Seeing how ex- 
hausted she was, he made her ride a few miles 
upon his sla^gfrfjrt^n she sped on ahead 
She stopped short, for the ice gave way to again tilk^argairie^ 



People were already in the streets, and all 
tending one way. She stopped and asked 
the time. It was within a quarter of an hour 
of the time when Joel Haman was to pay 
another's penalty. She spurred herself on, 
and came to the jail blind with fatigue. As 
she neared the jail she saw her father and 
Mickey. In amazement her father hailed 
her, but she would not stop. She was 

" Ah, you haf it ! Say you haf it, or it ees 
no use — he mus' hang. Speak, speak ! Ah, 
my brudder — it ees to do him right ! Ah, 
Loisette — ah, ban Dieu y merci I " 

For answer she placed the reprieve in the 
hands of the sheriff. Then she swayed and 
fell fainting at the feet of Ba'tiste without a 

She had come at the stroke of the hour. 

'THEN she swayed and fell fainting at the feet of batiste. 

admitted on her explaining that she had a 
reprieve. Entering a room filled with 
excited people, she heard a cry. 

It came from Ba'tiste. He had arrived 
but ten minutes before, and, in the sheriffs 
presence, had discovered his loss. He had 
appealed in vain. 

But now, as he saw the girl, he gave 

a shout of joy which pierced the hearts 

of all. 

Vol xx*i.-n. 

When she left for her home again the 
sheriff kissed her. 

And that was not the only time he kissed 
her. He did it again six months later, at the 
beginning of the harvest, when she and 
Ba'tiste Caron started off on the long trail of 
life together. None but Ba'tiste knew the 
truth about the loss of the reprieve, and to 
him she was " beautibul " just the same, and 
greatly to be desired. 



I HEN the members of the Strand 
Club assembled at their last meet- 
ing there was noticed a mysterious 
drawing on the easel, a caricature 
of two men. At once the sus- 
picion leapt to the mind that the perpe- 
trator was the inimitable " Max " — but that 






" MAX/ 

coruscating personage had not attended for 
several meetings ; the waiters averred that he 
had not been near the premises. Besides, 
the drawing on closer inspection revealed 
other peculiarities. Who was the guilty 
party? It appeared to be a skit on Mr. 
J. M. Barrie and Mr. G. K. Chesterton, but 
the mystery of its origin was not cleared up 
during the evening. 

Acting upon a happy suggestion of 
Lorrison's, the Club had decided to elect 
a number of distinguished foreign artists 
as corresponding members. Lorrison, who 
seems to be an courant with the great 
names in international art, was permitted, 
somewhat disastrously as it turned out, 
to draw up a list of desirable members, 
who were unanimously elected by a sub- 
committee (consisting of Lorrison himself), 
and a card of election was forthwith 
dispatched in the following style : — 

Know All Men by these Presents. 

M. Greeting. 

Whereas the Noble and Excellent Company of the 
Strand Club desireth to encompass and embrace vwithin 
its intellectual and artistic boundaries the World's most 
renowned wits, jokers, humorists, drolls, and wags, hereby 
elect you an Honorary FOREIGN Mfmber of the afore- 
said fellowship. 

Will you, therefore, kindly favour us with a sample of 

your peculiar and scintillating wit and humour, in order that 

it may redound to the good of mankind in general and the 

delectation of the Strand Club in particular. 

God Save The King I 

Ab Uno Disce Omnes. 

Lorrison began his list with the Emperor 
William an<S^ra«ttt#WHti M. Carolus Duran. 




The result was what might have been ex- 
pected. There was a dry intimation, couched 
in official language, from the Chancellor's 
Office, Berlin, to the effect that His Majesty 
the German Emperor reserved all his jokes 
for his public speeches and the pages of 
Fliegende Blatter ; while M. Carolus Duran's 



indignant reply was that he never consciously 
made a joke in his life, nor otherwise wit- 
tingly had given pain to any living creature ! 
Wherefore Lorrison's list had to be revised. 
Soaring to less exalted heights, the Club has 
now elected to honorary foreign membership 
MM.Steinlen,Gerbault, Rabier,Mars,Ardouin, 
Monnier, Robinet, and Leon Kern. These 
for France ; while Germany is represented by 
Messrs. Bruno Paul, Schlittgen, Kirschner, 
Gratz, and Koch ; and from America we expect 
to receive visits or sketches from Messrs. 
Zimmerman, Opper, Ehrhart, and others. 

At this, the latest meeting of the Club, 
two foreign members were present. Hesketh, 
who was in the chair, called upon M. Leon 
Kern, who, his health having been drunk 
with acclamation, promptly obliged with the 
above lightning sketch. 

u You know," he said, " something about 
the woman who thinks of everything, n'est-ce 
pas? A friend of mine had a visit from a 
lady patron once. She was contemplating 
the finest picture he had ever painted to 
order— a masterpiece — a beautiful Alpine 

scene. ■ Certainly/ she observed, critically, 
1 the snow effect is not bad, only we should 
have preferred something less easily soiled ; 
and then the rose tints of your sky would be 
troublesome if we should have to go into 
mourning ! ' " 

There was much laughter at the artist's 


What there 
could have been 
in this story to 
have suggested 
an experience to 
Mr. Frank Rey- 
nolds is incom- 

Reynolds : A 
young couple 
who had just 
taken a small 
flat were engag- 
ing the maid-of- 
all - work. " I 
can give you 
references," said 
the girl. "Oh, 
hang that ! n re- 
plied the master, 
going over her 
with a two-foot 
rule; "the thing 
is — will you fit 
the kitchen ? " 

i|»*T )fe_ftbT 



8 4 


^< >--V^v\ "^>~ —J 

>, J£}^ 

Boyle, who has just come from Monte 
Carlo, told of how he had been robbed by 
the innkeepers on the Riviera. 

Mullins : Talking of Continental hotels 
reminds me of a conversation I once over- 



Bolman : I was passing a gorgeous sweet- 
stuff shop the other day, and overheard a 
very funny conversation between the proprie- 
tor and a ragged 
little street girl 
who had been 
loitering outside 
the gaily-decorated 
window rather 
longer than he 
thought good for 
thegeneral appear- 
ance of the estab- 
lishment, " Well, 
my girl," he in- 
quired, "what do 
you want?" "Oh, 
please sir," was the 
somewhat discon- 
certing reply, 
11 don't you want a 
very nice little girl 
to sit in the win- 
dow and eat 
sweets ? " 

To accompany 
Bolman's anec- 
dote our Chairman 
called upon the 
illustrious Tom 
Browne, with the 
above result. ~. 


heard at a Swiss 
caravanserai be- 
tween the proprie- 
tor and a porter. 

" Wake the gen- 
tleman in No. 29." 

"But he told 
me to wake him 
in two hours." 

" N on sense ! 
Wake him now. He 
can't eat or drink 
when he's asleep." 

To the fore- 
going remini- 
scence Harry Fur- 
niss supplied the 
above picture. 

Somebody sug- 
gested the New 
Zealand football- 
ers, and after we 
had discussed foot- 
ball for ten minutes 
Johns asked Mc- 
Cormick to deline- 
ate for the com- 





individual who has just been run over by a 
steam-roller. The artist achieved this feat on 
the blackboard, and with white chalk produced 
a curious effect. We all waited 
to hear the story of the tragedy. 
Johns : To show you how 
enthusiastic football players are 
in the North, a half-back ama- 
teur in Sheffield was run over 
and fearfully mangled by a 
runaway steam-roller. Return- 
ing to consciousness, the first 
words he uttered to the adja- 
cent policeman were, " Hi, um- 

The talented Baumer was called 
upon to draw a pretty girl. 

u If we haven't got Gibson, we 
have at least got Baumer," observed 
Wornung, sententiously. 

After Baumer had rapidly 
sketched in outline his fair damsel, 
Wornung said she reminded him of 
a duke's daughter in his county who 
went about doing good amongst the 

Wornung ; I^ady Margaret once 
had an interview with the village 
tippler's wife, who, in reply to a ques- 
tion, said : — 

"No, my lady, I can't keep my 
husband at home, nohow." 

" Why don't you make it attrac- 
tive to him ?" 

" I have. I've taken up the par- 
lour carpet, sprinkled sawdust on the 
floor, and put a beer- barrel in the 
room. But, somehow, it don't make 
any difference." 
At Hesketh's instigation Baumer added 
to his sketch on the easel the figure 
of the perplexed spouse. 

pire, was that a touch down ? " 
It was probably McCor- 
mick's steam - roller that put 
Muttle in mind of motor-cars, 
for he went on to relate several 
of his recent touring experi- 
ences and at least one new 
story of an acquaintance of his 
— a person he called Lord 
Algy. The latter is extremely 
humane, and is nervous about 
accidents. u W T hat was that we 
ran over just now?" he mur- 
mured, anxiously, to his chauf- 
feur. " A cat, my lord." "A 
cat? Really? Dear me! Why 
on earth didn't the silly crea- 
ture mew ? " 

To accompany this the dex- 
terous Armour produced the 
sketch given above. 



S'K r '. 




\ ;■// ><\M to' 1 











t\ ardouin's idea of the ultimate development 
of the " strap-hanger." 

M. Ardouin on being introduced ex- 
pressed his regret that he was not more 
proficient in the language. The thing 
which had struck him most during his 
stay in London was the spectacle of 
what "Mr. Punch" has christened the 
"Strap-Hanger" on the Underground 
Railway, and he ventured to depict 
on the board a little incident which 
might take place in the year 1925. 
Bnchard translated the dialogue as 
follows : — 

"Excuse me, but would you mind 
telling me, purely as a matter of science, 
how you manage to acquire such a mag- 
nificent muscular development at a com- 
paratively advanced stage of life?" 

"Not at all. 
I am in busi- 
ness in the City, 
and have been 
hanging on to a 
strap on the Un- 
derground Rail- 
way for twenty 

Harrison : 
When return- 
ing from school 
one muddy day 
Tommy fell in the 
gutter, with the 
result that it was 
rather difficult to 
decide which was 


mud and which messrs. bovi. 

was Tommy. When he arrived home 
the following dialogue occurred: Tommy: 
" Bo-0-0-0 ! I've fallen down ! " Ma : " You 
bad boy ! In those new knickers, too ! " 
Tommy (never at a loss for an excuse) : 
" Bo-0-0-0 ! I hadn't time to take them ofll 
when I found myself going." 

There was one regrettable incident in an 
otherwise pleasant evening. Muttle, who dis- 
likes personal " sells, ' asked Boyle, apropos 
of his travels, "Is land dear in Italy?" 



" No," answered Boyle, deliberately. " But 
the ground rents are awful." 
" Really ! I wonder why ? " 
" Earthquakes," returned Boyle. 

The expression 
of Boyle's face as 
he delivered him- 
self of this bril- 
liant jest was only 
to be compared 
with the expres- 
sion of Muttle's 
countenance as 
he received it 
Both were admir- 
ably depicted by 
the gifted Hassall 
on the adjacent 
easel. Wherewith 
wound up the 
latest meeting 
of the Strand 

K AND MUTTL* 0^1131 f TO Pf! 


Boomerangs and Boomerang- Throwing. 

By Charles Ray. 

T is pretty generally agreed that 
in the aborigines of Australia 
we have the very lowest and 
most degraded type of humanity 
to be found on the face of the 
earth at the present time. Yet 
some have thought that in a far distant past 
these people enjoyed a considerable civiliza- 
tion, a theory that is based principally upon 
the possession of a single ingenious weapon 
—the boomerang. This weapon, although 
generally associated with the native Australian, 
is by no means confined to him ; it has been 
found in almost every part of the world, and 
can be traced back for thousands of years. 
In the British Museum is preserved an 
ancient Egyptian boomerang very much like 
the Australian variety in shape, and Colonel 
A. H. Lane-Fox, who made a facsimile of 
this, found that with a little practice he 
could throw it a distance of a hundred paces, 
which was much farther than he could place 
any ordinary stick of similar size and weight. 
He also succeeded in obtaining a return 
flight, so that the weapon, after flying seventy 
paces forward, returned to within seven paces 
of the position in which he was standing. 
The Egyptian boomerang, in fact, flew better 
than many Australian specimens. But of 
the universal distribution of this weapon, 
more later* 

The boomerang is a more 
or less sickle - shaped stick of 
hard wood, ranging in length 

from fifteen inches to three and a half feet, 
two or three inches wide, and about three- 
eighths of an inch thick. The ends are 
usually rounded or pointed, and one of the 
sides is made convex, the other being flat. 
The edge is sharpened all round, and the 
surface, upon which its curious flight mainly 
depends, is slightly waving and broken by 
various angles which balance and counter- 
balance each other. Some of these, by 
causing differences in the pressure of the air 
on certain parts, give steadiness of flight, and 
others impart buoyancy. The angles really 
serve to counteract gravitation, so that even 
when the force imparted by the thrower is 
spent the boomerang still continues its flight. 
The Australians in the manufacture of 
their weapons follow the natural grain of the 
wood, and this leads to every kind of curve, 
from the slightest bend to a right angle or 
the segment of a circle, with the result that 
no two boomerangs are ever exactly alike in 
shape. In throwing, the weapon is held 
by one end with the convex side downwards. 
The thrower bends his body back with the 
boomerang over his shoulder and then hurls 
it forward, when it whirls round and round 
like a wheel and makes a loud buzzing noise. 
After reaching a certain distance it stops in 
its flight and then commences to return, and 
falls at the feet of or behind the 
thrower. If the boomerang is 
thrown downwards to the ground 
it rebounds in a straight line, 

QUOtl) *\ rro 1 1 1 

) °S? ( 






pursuing a ricochet 
motion, in that case, 
of course, not return- 
ing to the thrower. 
Very often a boom- 
erang appears to be merely a common 
crooked stick, although in reality, it is a 

-N *- 

Killing a small animal with a boomerang thrown to the ground, 
along which it travels with a ricochet movement. 




Boomerang thrown right round a building, circuit about 300ft. 


weapon upon which much time and care 
have been spent. Mr. Horace Baker, who 
has made a particular study of these .objects, 

says he believes 
it is. possible to 
make a boomer- 
ang by exact 
calculation, al- 
though he has 
not yet been 
able to do this. 
He has made 
two, apparently 
alike in every 
particular, yet 
while one rose 
buoyantly in j 
the air, the \ 
other fell dead j 
because of J 
some untrue . 
adjustment of 
the angles of ' 
its faces. ' 

____. I n the hands 

of a skilful 
Australian native a good boomerang will 
follow the most remarkable courses in its 
flights, so re- 

corner. A boomerang 
*t* ~^s _m can be thrown right 
round a building or 
tree, and come back 
to the thrower ; it 

can be hurled at a bird on the wing, knock 

the creature down with its rotating arms, 
and return to its owner. Some diagrams 
are given showing a few typical boomer- 
ang flights which can easily be effected 
by any skilful 
The boom- 
erang is used 
for various 
purposes by 
the natives 

.of New South 

W a 1 e s and 

Queensland. The 

children find it a 

fruitful source of 

amusement and 

spend a good 

deal of time in 

perfecting them- 
selves in its use. 

Then it is used 

in hunting, when 

its curious flight 

renders it invaluable. For instance, it can 

be thrown at a flock of ducks or wild-fowl 




Boomerang rose 100ft. , did 
. double twist and fell at 
thrower's flet. 


9o i<* j 

Bringing down a bird. Boomerang, 
after .striking bird, turned sharply j 
and returned in almost same direc- 
tion as that from which it was ' 
thrown. I 

After going 150ft. boomerang revolved in perpendicular plane, 

then turned off, and finally fell at throwers feet. Time losec ; 

greatest height 90ft. 

markable, in- 
deed, that these 
almost need to 
be seen to be 
believed. As 
has often been 
said, the weapon 
is literally like 
the Irishman's 
gun — it will 
shoot round a 

300 /***- 





Boomerang after reaching limit in direction thrown took a turn, passed 
behind thrower, rose to 80ft. , turned to right, and fell in front of thrower. 

on a river or marsh, knocking down one or 
more and returning to its user, instead of 
being lost in the morass. Then in the pursuit 

of the kangaroo 
and other ani- 
mals, the hunts- 
man can hide 
behind a bush 
or rising of the 
ground and aim 
at his quarry 
without himself 
being seen. Such 
a weapon must 
naturally have 









Boomerang turned, passed over thrower's head, travelled in a reverse 

direction, forming figure eight, and then fell at thrower's feet with a 

third smalt turn to the left. 

six feet in diameter on the sand, and 
the man threw the boomerang with 
great force a dozen times, out of 
which it fell within the circle five 

The method of defence against 
the boomerang in warfare is to hold 
forward, vertically, a stick about two 
feet long, with a notched head and 
handle. This is moved right or left 
as the case may be, causing the 
boomerang to fly off at one side or 
the other. In order to overcome this 
defence the Queensland aborigines 

given a great advantage to its possessors 
in the struggle for life, over those who 
did not know its use. 

In warfare the ' boomerang has the 
quality of being a most formidable 
weapon among uncivilized tribes. It is 
capable of inflicting a wound several 
inches deep and will strike its victim 
without giving the slightest clue as to 
the position of the assailant, who may 
be behind a thicket to the right or left. 
Of course, the user of a boomerang 
must himself be skilful, or it will be 
as dangerous to him as to the object 
aimed at, for it may return and strike its 
owner. It is by^constant practice for genera- 
tions that the Aus- 
tralian aborigines 
have been able to 
excel in its use, 
although they are 
not all able to do 
the wonderful 
things with the 
boomerangs that 
are sometimes 
spoken of. A gen- 
tleman who resided 
for some time in 
Australia informed 
Lord Avebury that 
on one occasion, in 
order to test the 
skill with which the 
boomerang could 
be thrown, he 
offered to a native 
a reward of six- 
pence for every time 
the missile was 
made to return to 
the spot from which 
it was thrown. He 
drew a circle five or 

Vol. xxxi.— 12. 

Boomerang thrown by concealed hunter at a kangaroo 120ft. away. 

Boomerang turned, made two small circles, and struck 

animal's hind legs. 

Hooked boomerang to 
counteract defence 
with stick. 

use a boomerang of peculiar shape. It has 
a hooked end, and when it strikes the 

defensive stick, the 
angle caused by 
the hook revolves 
round the stick, and 
the other end of the 
boomerang swings 
round and gives the 
victim a severe 
blow. To one not 
well initiated into 
the mysteries of 
boomerang - throw- 
ing, however, it is 
very difficult to 
defend one's self 
against the missile. 
Edward John Eyre, 
the explorer, tells 
how he once nearly 
had his arm broken 
by a boomerang 
while standing 
within a yard of 
the native who 
threw it, and look- 
ing out purposely 
for it. 

The scientific 


Stick to use in 
defence against 






Original from 



principle on which the boomerang's flight 
depends has been explained by Colonel 
Lane-Fox, who made this weapon his par- 
ticular study for years. 

After describing the various forms of 
boomerang, he goes on to say : " As all 
these varieties continued to be employed, 
it would soon be perceived that peculiar 
advantages were derived from the use of the 
flatter class of weapons, especially such as 
are flat on the underside, for, by throwing 
these in such a manner as to catch the air on 
the flat side, instead of falling to the ground 
they would rise in the air precisely in the 
same manner that a kite, when the boy runs 
forward with the string, rises, and continues 

(r? 3 * 

I 7 . • 3 

i. African boomerang; 2, Ancient Egyptian boomerang in the British Museum", 
3. Curiously shaped Australian boomeiang, made so as to. overcome defence with 
knobbed stick ; 4. Knobbed stick for warding off boomerang blows ; 5, 6, 7, 8. Indian 


by the action of 
the forward side, 
of transition ceases 
begin to fall, and 


to rise as long as it is kept up by the action 
of the 'air beneath. In like manner the 
boomerang, as long as the forward movement 
imparted to it by the thrower continues, will 
continue to rise, and the plane of rotation, 
instead of continuing perfectly parallel to 
its original position, will be slightly raised 

the atmosphere on 

When the movement 
the boomerang will 

its course in falling 
will be by the line of least resistance, 
which is in the direction of the edge that lies 
obliquely towards the thrower. It will, there- 
fore, fall back in the same manner that a kite, 
when the string is suddenly broken, is seen to 
fall back for a short distance, but, as the kite 
has received no movement of rotation to 
cause it to continue in the same plane of 
descent, it soon loses its parallelism and falls 
in a series of fantastic curves towards the 
ground. The boomerang will do the same 
thing if it loses its movement of rotation, 
but as long as this continues, which it usually 

does after the forward movement has ceased, 
it continues to fall back upon the same 
inclined plane by which it ascended, and 
finally reaches the ground at the feet of the 
thrower. There are various ways of throw- 
ing the boomerang, but the principle here 
enunciated will explain the course of its flight 
in whatever manner it may be thrown," 

As to the geographical distribution of the 
boomerang, it is found in some form or other 
in nearly all uncivilized and semi-barbarous 
communities. In Abyssinia it is of hard 
wood, about two feet in length, with the end 
turned sharply at an angle of thirty degrees. 
The natives throw it with great dexterity, 
and it inflicts a severe wound. Unlike the 
Australian weapon, how- 
ever, it does not re- 
turn. The Moqui Indians 
of Arizona and Mexico 
use the boomerang to kill 
rabbits, throwing it along 
the ground with a motion 
similar to that by which 
a stone is made to skip 
along the surface of water. 
It has also been found 
among the Indian tribes 
of California. In the 
Indian peninsula the 
weapon is found among 
the Dravidian races, and 
it is significant that Pro- 
fessor Huxley traced these people to an 
Australoid stock. In Australia alone, how- 
ever, does the boomerang return to the 
thrower, and on this account Lord Avebury 
took exception to Colonel Lane- Fox's classi- 
fication of Indian, African, and Australian 
boomerangs in one group. But it has been 
shown by travellers that the return flight was 
probably arrived at by accident, and so the 
Australian boomerang is merely a variety of 
the instrument. 

With regard to the use of the boomerang 
in Europe, Sir Samuel Ferguson has tried to 
prove that the cateia of the classical writers 
was the boomerang ; and Isidore, Bishop of 
Seville, who wrote at the end of the sixth 
and beginning of the seventh century, seems 
to confirm this, for he described the cateia as 
"a species of bat which, when thrown, flies 
not far, by reason of its weight, but where 
it strikes it breaks through with extreme 
impetus, and if it be thrown with a skilful 
hand it returns back again to him who dis- 
missed it." 

by Google 

Original from 

The Cost of Kindness. 

By Jerome K. Jerome. 



INDNESS," argued little 
Mrs. Pennycoop, "costs 
nothing." # 

"And, speaking generally, 
my dear, is valued precisely 
at cost price," retorted Mr. 
Pennycoop, who, as an auctioneer of twenty 
years' experience, had enjoyed much oppor- 
tunity of testing the attitude of the public 
towards sentiment. 

u I don't care what you say, George," per- 
sisted his wife ; " he may be a disagreeable, 
cantankerous old brute — I don't say he isn't. 
All the same, the man is going away, and we 
may never see him again." 

" If I thought there was any fear of our 
doing so," observed Mr. Pennycoop, " I'd 

You hear him when he is in the pulpit, 
where, to a certain extent, he is bound to 
keep his temper." 

li You forget the rummage sale, George," 
Mrs. Pennycoop reminded him ; " to say 
nothing of the church decorations." 

"The rummage sale," Mr. Pennycoop 
pointed out to her, "occurs only once a 
year, and at that time your own temper, I 
have noticed " 

" I always try to remember I am a 
Christian," interrupted little Mrs. Penny- 
coop. " I do not pretend to be a saint, but 
whatever I say I am always sorry for it 
afterwards — you know I am, George." 

" It's what I am saying," explained her 
husband. " A vicar who has contrived in 

'you are not churchwarden, retorted HER HUSUANl) 

turn my back on the Church of England 
to-morrow and become a Methodist," 

" Don't talk like that, George," his wife 
admonished him, reprovingly ; " the Lord 
might be listening to you." 

" If the Lord had to listen to old Crackle- 
thorpe He'd sympathize with me," was the 
opinion of Mr. Pennycoop. 

" The Lord sends us our trials, and they 
are meant for our good," explained his wife. 
" They are meant to teach us patience." 

"You are not churchwarden," retorted her 
husband ; " you can get away from him. 



three years to make every member of his 
congregation hate the very sight of a church 
—well, there's something wrong about it 

Mrs. Pennycoop, gentlest of little women, 
laid her plump and still pretty hands upon 
her husband's shoulders. " Don't think, 
dear, I haven't sympathized with you. You 
have borne it nobly. I have marvelled 
sometimes that you have been able to con- 
trol yourself as you have done, most times ; 
the things that he has said to you." 

Mr. Pennycoop had slid unconsciously 
Original from 

9 2 


into an attitude suggestive of petrified virtue, 
lately discovered. 

"One's own pooi self/' observed Mr. 
Pennycoop, in accents of proud humility — 
"insults that are merely personal one can 
put up with. Though even there," added 
the senior churchwarden, with momentary 
descent towards the plane of human nature, 
"nobody cares to have it hinted publicly 
across the vestry table that one has chosen 
to collect from the left side for the express 
purpose of artfully passing over one's own 

"The children have always had their 
threepenny-bits ready waiting in their hands," 
explained Mrs. Pennycoop, indignantly. 

" It's the sort of thing he says merely for 
the sake of making a disturbance," continued 
the senior churchwarden. " It's the things 
he does I draw the line at." 

"The things he has done, you mean, 
dear," laughed the little woman, with the 
accent on the "has." "It is all over now, 
and we are going to be rid of him. I expect, 
dear, if we only knew, we should find it was 
his liver. You know, George, I remarked to 
you the first day that he came how pasty he 
looked and what a singularly unpleasant 
mouth he had. People can't help these 
things, you know, dear. One should look 
upon them in the light of afflictions and be 
sorry for them." 

" I could forgive him doing what he does 
if he didn't seem to enjoy it," said the senior 
churchwarden. " But, as you say, dear, he 
is going, and all I hope and pray is that we 
never see his like again." 

" And you'll come with me to call upon 
him, George," urged kind little Mrs. Penny- 
coop. " After all, he has been our vicar for 
three years, and he must be feeling it, poor 
man — whatever he may pretend — going away 
like this, knowing that everybody is glad to 
see the back of him." 

" Well, I sha'n't say anything I don't really 
feel," stipulated Mr. Pennycoop. 

"That will be all right, dear," laughed his 
wife, " so long as you don't say what you do 
feel. And we'll both of us keep our temper," 
further suggested the little woman, " whatever 
happens. Remember, it will be for the last 

Little Mrs. Pennycoop's intention was 
kind and Christianlike. The Rev. Augustus 
Cracklethorpe would be quitting Wychwood- 
on the-Heath the following Monday, never to 
set foot— so the Rev. Augustus Cracklethorpe 
himself and every single member of his con- 
gregation hoped sincerely — in the neighbour- 

hood again. Hitherto no pains had been 
taken on either side to disguise the mutual 
joy with which the parting was looked for- 
ward to. The Rev. Augustus Cracklethorpe, 
M. A., might possibly have been of service to 
his Church in, say, some East-end parish of 
unsavoury reputation, some mission station 
far advanced amid the hordes of heathendom. 
There his inborn instinct of antagonism to 
everybody and everything surrounding him, 
his unconquerable disregard for other people's 
views and feelings, his inspired conviction 
that everybody but himself was bound to be 
always wrong about everything, combined 
with determination to act and spefik fear- 
lessly in such belief, might have found their 
uses. In picturesque little Wychwood-on- 
the-Heath, among the Kentish hills, retreat 
beloved of the retired tradesman, the spinster 
of moderate means, the reformed Bohemian 
developing latent instincts towards respect- 
ability, these qualities made only for scandal 
and disunion. 

For the past two years the Rev. Crackle- 
thorpe's parishioners, assisted by such other 
of the inhabitants of Wychwood-on-the-Heath 
as had happened to come into personal con- 
tact with the reverend gentleman, had sought 
to impress upon him, by hints and innuendoes 
difficult to misunderstand, their cordial and 
daily-increasing dislike of him, both as a 
parson and a man. Matters had come 
to a head by the determination officially 
announced to him that, failing other 
alternatives, a deputation of his leading 
parishioners would wait upon his bishop. 
This it was that had brought it home to the 
Rev. Augustus Cracklethorpe that, as the 
spiritual guide and comforter of Wychwood- 
on-the-Heath, he had proved a failure. The 
Rev. Augustus had sought and secured the 
care of other souls. The following Sunday 
morning he had arranged to preach his fare- 
well sermon, and the occasion promised to 
be a success from every point of view. 
Churchgoers who had not visited St. Jude's 
for months had promised themselves the 
luxury of feeling they were listening to the 
Rev. Augustus Cracklethorpe for the last 
time. The Rev. Augustus Cracklethorpe 
had prepared a sermon that for plain speak- 
ing and directness was likely to leave an 
impression. The parishioners of St. Jude's, 
Wychwood-on-the-Heath, had their failings, 
as we all have. The Rev. Augustus flattered 
himself that he had not missed out a 
single one, and was looking forward with 
pleasurable anticipation to the sensation 
that his remarks, from his " firstly " to 

by Google 

U 1 1 I U I I I '_' 




his " sixthly and /astly," were likely to 

What marred the entire business was the 
impulsiveness of little Mrs. Pennycoop. The 
Rev. Augustus Crack lethorpe, informed in 
his study on the Wednesday afternoon that 
Mr. and Mrs. Penny coop had called, entered 
the drawing-room a quarter of an hour later, 
cold and severe ; and, without offering to 
shake hands, requested to be informed as 
shortly as possible for what purpose he had 
been disturbed. Mrs. Pennycoop had had 
her speech ready to her tongue. It was just 
what it should have been, and no more. 

It referred casually, without insisting on 
the point, to the duty incumbent upon all of 
us to remember on occasion we were Chris- 

At first the words came halting. Her 
husband, man-like, had deserted her in her 
hour of utmost need and was fumbling with 
the door knob. The steely stare with which 
the Rev. Cracklethorpe regarded her, instead 
of chilling her, acted upon her as a spur. It 
put her on her mettle. He should listen to 
her. She would make him understand her 
kindly feeling towards him if she had to take 
him by the shoulders and shake it into him. 
At the end of five minutes the Rev. Augustus 
Cracklethorpe, without knowing it, was look- 
ing pleased. At the end of another five 
Mrs. Pennycoop stopped, not for want of 
words, but for want of breath. The Rev. 
Augustus Cracklethorpe replied in a voice 
that, to his own surprise, was trembling 


tians ; that our privilege it was to forgive and 

forget ; that, generally speaking, there are 

faults on both sides; that partings should 

never take place in anger ; in short, that little 

Mrs. Pennycoop and George, her husband, 

as he was waiting to say for himself, were 

sorry for everything and anything they may 

have said or done in the past to hurt the 

feelings of the Rev. Augustus Cracklethorpe, 

and would like to shake hands with him and 

wish him every happiness for the future. 

The chilling attitude of the Rev. Augustus 

scattered that carefully-rehearsed speech to 

the winds. It left Mrs. Pennycoop nothing 

but to retire in choking silence, or to fling 

herself upon the inspiration of the moment 

and make up something new. She chose 

the latter alternative. 

by Google 

with emotion. Mrs. Pennycoop had made 
his task harder for him. He had thought 
to leave Wychwood-on-the- Heath without a 
regret. The knowledge that he now pos- 
sessed, that at all events one member of 
his congregation understood him, as Mrs. 
Pennycoop had proved to him she under- 
stood him, sympathized with him — the 
knowledge that at least one heart, and that 
heart Mrs. Pennycoop's, had warmed to him, 
would transform what he had looked forward 
to as a blessed relief into a lasting grief. 

Mr. Pennycoop, carried away by his wife's 
eloquence, added a few halting words of his 
own. It appeared from Mr. Pennycoop's 
remarks that he had always regarded the 
Rev, Augustus Cracklethorpe as the vicar of 
his dreams, but misunderstandings in some 

Original from 



unaccountable way will arise. The Rev. 
Augustus Cracklethorpe, it appeared, had 
always secretly respected Mr. Pennycoop. If 
at any time his spoken words might have 
conveyed the contrary impression, that must 
have arisen from the poverty of our language, 
which does not lend itself to subtle meanings. 
Then followed the suggestion of tea. Miss 
Cracklethorpe, sister to the Rev. Augustus — 
a lady whose likeness to her brother in all 
respects was startling, the only difference 
between them being that while he was clean- 
shaven she wore a slight moustache — was 
called down to grace the board. The visit 

might be getting a swelled head over this 
matter. The Rev. Augustus, with pardonable 
pride, repeated some of the things that Mrs. 
Pennycoop had said to him. Mrs. Penny- 
coop was not to imagine herself the only 
person in Wychwood-on-the-Heath capable 
of generosity that cost nothing. Other ladies 
could say graceful nothings — could say them 
even better. Husbands dressed in their best 
clothes and carefully rehearsed were brought 
in to grace the almost endless procession of 
disconsolate parishioners hammering at the 
door of St. Jude's parsonage. Between 
Thursday morning and Saturday night the 


was ended by Mrs. Pennyeoop's remembrance 
that it was Wilhelmina's night for a hot 

" I said more than I intended to," admitted 
Mrs. Pennycoop to George, her husband, on 
the way home ; " but he irritated me." 

Rumour of the Pennycoops' visit flew 
through the parish. Other ladies felt it their 
duty to show to Mrs. Pennycoop that she 
was not the only Christian in Wychwood-on- 
the-Heath. Mrs. Pennycoop, it was feared, 


Rev. Augustus, much to his own astonish- 
ment, had been forced to the conclusion that 
five-sixths of his parishioners had loved him 
from the first without hitherto having had 
opportunity of expressing their real feelings. 

The eventful Sunday arrived. The Rev. 
Augustus Cracklethorpe had been kept so 
busy listening to regrets at his departure, 
assurances of an esteem hitherto disguised 
from him, explanations of seeming dis- 
courtesies that had been intended as tokens 
Original from 



of affectionate regard, that no time had been 
left to him to think of other matters. Not till 
he entered the vestry at five minutes to eleven 
did recollection of his farewell sermon come 
to him. It haunted him throughout the 
service. To deliver it after the revelations 
of the last three days would be impossible. 
It was the sermon that Moses might have 
preached to Pharaoh the Sunday prior to the 
exodus. To crush with it this congregation 
of broken-hearted adorers sorrowing for his 
departure would be inhuman. The Rev. 
Augustus tried to think of passages that 
might be selected, altered. There were 
none. From beginning to end it con- 
tained not a single sentence capable of 
• being made to sound pleasant by any 
ingenuity whatsoever. 

The Rev. Augustus Cracklethorpe climbed 
slowly up the pulpit steps without an idea in 
his head of what he was going to say. The 
sunlight fell upon the upturned faces of a 
crowd that filled every corner of the church. 
So happy, so buoyant a congregation the 
eyes of the Rev. Augustus Cracklethorpe 
had never till that day looked down upon. 
The feeling came to him that he did not 
want to leave them. That they did not wish 
him to go, could he doubt ? Only by regard- 
ing them as a collection of the most shame- 
less hypocrites ever gathered together under 
one roof. The Rev. Augustus Cracklethorpe 
dismissed the passing suspicion as a sugges- 
tion of the Evil One, folded the neatly- 
written manuscript that lay before him on 
the desk, and put it aside. He had no need 
of a farewell sermon. The arrangements 
made could easily be altered. The Rev. 
Augustus Cracklethorpe spoke from his 
pulpit for the first time an impromptu. 

The Rev. Augustus Cracklethorpe wished 
to acknowledge himself in the wrong. 
Foolishly founding his judgment upon the 
evidence of a few men, whose names there 
would be no need to mention, members of 
the congregation who, he hoped, would one 
day be sorry for the misunderstandings they 
had caused, brethren whom it was his duty 
to forgive, he had assumed the parishioners 
of St. Jude's, Wychwood-on-the-Heath, to 
have taken a personal dislike to him. He 
wished to publicly apologize for the injustice 
he had unwittingly done to their heads and 
to their hearts. He now had it from their 
own lips that a libel had been f put upon 
them. So far from their wishing his de- 
parture, it was self-evident that his going 
would inflict upon them a great sorrow. 
With the knowledge he now possessed of the 

by LiOOgle 

respect — one might almost say the veneration 
— with which the majority of that congrega- 
tion regarded him — knowledge, he admitted, 
acquired somewhat late — it was clear to him 
he could still be of help to them in their 
spiritual need. To leave a flock so devoted 
would stamp him as an unworthy shepherd. 
The ceaseless stream of regrets at his 
departure that had been poured into his ear 
during the last four days he had decided at 
the last moment to pay heed to. He would 
remain with them — on one condition. 

There quivered across the sea of humanity 
below him a movement that might have 
suggested to a more observant watcher the 
convulsive clutchings of some drowning man 
at some chance straw. But the Rev. 
Augustus Cracklethorpe was thinking of 

The parish was large and he was no longer 
a young man. Let them provide him with a 
conscientious and energetic curate. He had 
such a one in his mind's eye, a near relation 
of his own, who, for a small stipend that was 
hardly worth mentioning, would, he knew it 
for a fact, accept the post. The pulpit was 
not the place in which to discuss these matters, 
but in the vestry afterwards he would be 
pleased to meet such members of the congre- 
gation as might choose to stay. 

The question agitating the majority of the 
congregation during the singing of the hymn 
was the time it would take them to get outside 
the church. There still remained a faint hope 
that the Rev. Augustus Cracklethorpe, not 
obtaining his curate, might consider it due 
to his own dignity to shake from his feet the 
dust of a parish generous in sentiment, but 
obstinately close-fisted when it came to 
putting its hands into its pockets. 

But for the parishioners of St. Jude's that 
Sunday was a day of misfortune. Before 
there could be any thought of moving, the 
Rev. Augustus raised his surpliced arm and 
begged leave to acquaint them with the 
contents of a short note that had just been 
handed up to him. It would send them all 
home, he felt sure, with joy and thankful- 
ness in their hearts. An example of Christian 
benevolence was among them that did honour 
to the Church. 

Here a retired wholesale clothier from the 
East-end of London — a short, tubby gentle- 
man who had recently taken the Manor 
House — was observed to turn scarlet. 

A gentleman hitherto unknown to them 
had signalled his advent among them by an 
act of munificence that should prove a shining 
example to all rich men. Mr. Horatio 




Copper— the reverend gentleman found some 
difficulty, apparently, in deciphering the 

11 Cooper-Smith, sir, with an hyphen," 
came in a thin whisper, the voice of the still 
scarlet-faced gentleman. 

Mr. Horatio Cooper-Smith, taking — the 

tion than the congregation that emerged 
that Sunday morning from St. Jude's in 
Wychwood-on-the-Heath had never, perhaps, 
passed out of a church door. 

" He'll have more time upon his hands," 
said Mr. Biles, retired wholesale ironmonger 
and junior churchwarden, to Mrs. Biles, 



Rev. Augustus felt confident — a not un- 
worthy means of grappling to himself thus 
early the hearts of his fellow- townsmen, had 
expressed his desire to pay for the expense of 
a curate entirely out of his own pocket. 
Under these circumstances, there would be 
no further talk of a farewell between the 
Rev. Augustus Cracklethorpe and his 
parishioners. It would be the hope of the 
Rev. Augustus Cracklethorpe to live and die 
the pastor of St. Jude's. 

A more solemn-looking, sober congrega- 

turning the corner of Acacia Avenue — " he'll 
have more time to make himself a curse 
and stumbling-block." 

" And if this * near relation ' of his is any- 
thing like him " 

" Which you may depend upon it is the 
case, or he'd never have thought of him," 
was the opinion of Mr. Biles. 

" I shall give that Mrs. Pennycoop," said 
Mrs. Biles, u a piece of my mind when I 
meet her." 

But of what use was that ? 

by Google 

Original from 

Portraits of Celebrities at Different Ages— New Series. 

OU may look upon " Anthony 
Hope n as a humorist or a serious 
man, and you get satisfaction 
from either point of view. He 
was intensely serious when he 
began life. He is 
the son of a clergy- 
man, and came down 
from Balliol with 
many honours. The 
Oxford Union made 
him its President in 
1886, and in the fol- 
lowing year he was 
called to the Bar. In 
fact, from the year 
1876, when, at the 
age of thirteen, he 
won a scholarship at 
Marlborough College, 
up to that uncertain 
date — say 1889 — 
when he began to 
find that law pos- 
sessed fewer attrac- 
tions than literature, 
Mr. Hawkins was 
one of the most ear- 
nest persons to be 
fo nd within a mile 
of St. Paul's. He 

seemed to be marked out perfectly for a career 
of dull and learned respectability. Few 
knew him except his colleagues in the law. 

Then "Dolly" burst on 
jaded London, and her seri- 
ous creator became famous 
far beyond the portals of the 
Middle Temple. He had had 
just sufficient practice with 
" A Man of Mark " and a few 
other stories, short and long, 
to make the " Dialogues " 
models of craftsmanship, and 
when to this experience was 
added a delicious wit and 
understanding of the foibles 
of " the sex," the success of 
"The Dolly Dialogues" was 
assured. It came out serially 
in 1894 in the Westminster 
Gazette, and set everybody's 
tongue agog. No such clever- 
ness had been known for many a long day. 
Who was "Anthony Hope"? asked the 
literary set, and the London publishers 
ran a/ter the new light of humour. 

VoL xxxl— 13 

AGE 6. 

From a Photo, by Reiglahder. 

From a PhotuvrapK 

" The Prisoner of Zenda," written in the 
same year, met with like success amongst 
those who wanted a good story to read. As 
we recall the history of these two books we 
must admit the truth of the statement that 

"Anthony Hope" 
" has set : m two literary 
fashions ' — has, in 
short, created two 
vogues. Both books 
set up a standard 
which other authors 
slavishly followed for 
several years, with 
more or less success. 
The most successful 
— he who first raised 
it — has remained the 
most successful to the 
present time. Each 
new book is watched 
for eagerly by the 
reading public, who 
seem to realize tha 
"Anthony Hope" is 
one of the few authors 
who give them some- 
thing new every tirr.e. 
He is no slave to his 
trade. Look over his 
books, from " Zenda " 
to "A Servant of the Public," and see, with 
s irprise, how they differ in style, plot, and 
treatment each from the other. It is a sign 
of amazing versatility. 

" Every author his own 
dramatist " should be the 
motto of all successful writers. 
This is proved by the following 
story — perhaps apocryphal — 
of how " Anthony Hope " 
became his own playwright. 
It is said that he was invited 
by a well - known London 
actor " to visit him at his 
country place, a newly- 
acquired mansion with grounds 
that filled Mr. Hope with 
delight and envy. When he 
w^as expressing his admiration 
of the place, Mr. Alexander, 
with a friendly pat upon the 
back, said, * Made it all out of 
"The Prisoner of Zenda."' Then Mr. Hope 
visited New York and dined with Mr. Sothern, 
in his ne£)rhpMfcfcJ fftMrhased and furnished 
at la^| 9 ^^^;,|p^^flj^.fvas struck with 



admiration by the way actors live, and made 
some remark to show that he appreciated 
such luxuries. i I made it all out of " The 
Prisoner of Zenda,"' said Mr. Sothern." 

If, as is reported, the author M groaned " 
at the position of affairs, he rapidly put 

Prom a] 

[ t Iwtograpk. 

things to rights. "The Adventure of Lady 
Ursula," " Pilkerton's Peerage," and " Rupert 
of Hentzau n showed considerable aptitude 
in a most difficult metier^ and the proceeds 
from the first-named piece must have brought 
a feeling of delicious contentment to the 
energetic playwright And, strange to say, 

its popularity aroused little jealousy in the 
" profession." As a rule, they set their teeth 
and steel their eyes against the book-writer 
who treads upon their preserves, but they 
made an exception in the case of " Anthony 
Hope " — because they like him. 

And who does not ? He goes everywhere, 
is seen everywhere, speaks everywhere, and 
says kind things everywhere to everyone who 
needs them. As an after-dinner speaker he 
has few equals. " In America," as the little 
girl said in her examination paper, " people 
are put to death by elocution," but in England 
they love it dearly, especially when it is 
bright, appropriate, and to the point. This 

From a Photo, by] 

age 35, 

{EUit & Waltry, 

-From a Photo, by] 

age aS. 

£J". Thornton. 

is exactly where M Anthony Hope " excels, 
and what he says is always happily aided, for 
comic effect, by a somewhat drawling 
utterance and a very priest-like face. 

No amount of elocution, however, has 
succeeded in getting him into Parliament, for 
which honour he has shown a true-born 
British desire. In 1892 he was defeated by 
Viscount Curzon, the principal reason being 
that Mr. " Hope " was not a Conservative, and 
at the last election he had hopes of trying 
again, but "scratched " before the great event. 

Not the least of his claims upon the 
American public, with whom he is a great 
favourite, is the fact that he has taken an 
American gi&ri^ntfJfilronThe marriage, in 

I9 o 3 , ^wmmmwiQmment- 




Vtvm a Photo, by SUit <t WaltnfDX\ Q\W&\ f TO ITI 


The Romance of Auctioneering. 

By Percy Collins. 



EW will deny that a subtle 
atmosphere of romance sur- 
rounds the auctioneer and his 
calling. It is not easy to 
express in words exactly why 
we are fascinated, yet fasci- 
nated we unquestionably are. The dipso- 
maniac struggles vainly against the magnetism 
of the gin -palace, and there are men well- 
nigh as impotent to resist the tapping <^U1 of 
the hammer when it comes softly 
the open doors of the auction-room. 

Many of us who experience this attraction 
cannot afford to indulge in the delirious 
pleasure of bidding. Yet we feel a keen 
delight in watching the progress of the sale. 
We marvel at the auctioneer — his eagle eye, 
his tireless voice, the careless ease with which 
he taps vast sums of money into his coffers. 
We share the anxiety of the bidder whose 
heart is set upon some 
coveted " lot." 

In the following 
pages the writer pro- 
poses to describe 
briefly a few unique 
"lots" which have 
come under his per- 
sonal notice. They 
must be regarded 
merely as a selection 
made almost at ran- 
dom from thousands 
of possible instances. 
Still, they typify, 
in some measure at 
least, the romantic side of the auctioneer's 
calling, while they show how varied are the 
objects which come, year by year, " under 
the hammer." 

It is seldom that many months pass without 
the high price realized at auction by some 
rare first edition forming subject for comment 
in the Press. But there is little doubt that 
the most remarkable book sale on record 
took place in the provinces not long ago — 
the lot being an old Bible, of no interest to 
collectors, and worth not a penny more 
than i os. at the highest valuation. Yet 
there must have been some private history 
connected with it, for two ladies seemed 
to h&vtj ejitex.ed Jhe sale-room each with 
the object**} ft ^becoming the purchaser of the 
volume. The budding began at a few 
shillings and went up steadily to ^10. Of 


course, the battle was entirely between the 
two ladies, and it became evident that 
neither was as yet prepared to own herself 
vanquished. Under the astute guidance of 
the auctioneer, the bidding mounted quickly 
until ;£ioo was reached, and then continued 
to rise by slower and more reluctant bids 
until — to the amazement of all present— the 
Bible was at length knocked down to one of 
the ladies for ^£200. 

The above is, of course, a clear case of 
caprice, stimulated, perhaps, by private 
jealousy. It often happens, however, that 
objects with little or no intrinsic value be- 
come vested, mainly on account of their 
rarity, with a fictitious worth in the eyes of 
a certain circle of the collecting fraternity. 
Old postage-stamps will at once occur to the 
reader as a case in point, for the huge prices 
often paid for these tiny scraps of coloured 

paper have become 
notorious. The re- 
cord for a single 
stamp was estab- 
lished in 1904, when 
an immaculate 
specimen of the 2d. 
blue Mauritius (dis- 
covered by Mr. James 
Bonar, of Ilampstead, 
in a little collection 
he made when a boy 
at school in 1864) 
was purchased at auc- 
tion for H.R.H. the 
Prince of Wales for 
^1,450. But by far the most interesting 
stamp sale for many years past was effected 
on November 10th, 1902, by Mr. William 
Hadlow, the well-known stamp auctioneer. 
The "lot" in question was discovered quite 
accidentally by Mrs. Fyffe, of Kirkwall, when 
looking over some old papers. It consisted 
in the lower half (only one stamp missing) of 
a sheet of Plate 1 of the id. black issue 
of English stamps. The 119 stamps cost 
their original purchaser 9s. nd. ; when put 
up to auction they realized no less than ^112. 
To the ordinary mind the price seems a long 
one, but in philatelical circles it was not 
regarded as by any means a " fancy figure." 
The reader should be reminded that the first 
id. English postage-stamps were printed in 
black and cancelled with red ink. But 
authorities were soon convinced, by the 






* > 



appearance of numerous successfully cleaned 
stamps, that the colour must be changed, and 
the black id. quickly gave way to the same 
design printed in red and cancelled in black 
ink. Hence the original black id are scarce, 
and single specimens are catalogued at from 
25s. to 40s. unused, while in a block the 
value is, of course, much enhanced. By the 
courtesy of Mr. T. F. Fyffe the writer is able 
to reproduce a photograph of the unique half 
sheet discovered by his mother. 

Perhaps the most curious, and certainly 
one of the most diminutive lots ever offered 
by auction, was the recipe of a patent pill, 
which found a purchaser at the Auction Mart, 
Tokenhouse Yard, early in December, 1902. 

One of the largest rooms in the Mart was 
filled with chemists, druggists, pill 
and patent medicine manufacturers, 
and others — all waiting to compete 
for the purchase of a " dandelion 
and quinine bilious and liver pill." 
The " lot," so far as external appear- 
ance was concerned, consisted in 
nothing more than a carefully-sealed 
envelope. It looked a very ordi- 
nary little packet. But the auc- 
tioneer informed his audience that 
the pill had been before the public 
for upwards of forty years at ordi- 
nary prices, while the average net 
profit returns to the proprietors for 
the past five years had been at the 
rate of over ^900 per annum. 
Moreover, he hinted that judicious 

advertising would probably secure a 
much larger income for the lucky 
owner of the recipe. The first 
offer for this prize was ^2,000 ; but 
the bidding did not cease until the 
round sum of ^£5,000 was reached, 
at which price the sealed envelope 
was knocked down. 

Perhaps the London sale-room to 
which, in popular esteem, at least, 
the most romantic associations at- 
tach is " Stevens's." Certain it is 
that the visitor who passes an hour 
in the auction-rooms at King Street, 
Covent Garden, seldom leaves with- 
out feeling that he has been lifted 
above the humdrum of everyday 
existence and wafted to far-off 
tropical islands, or carried back- 
wards through the dim archives of 
antiquity. To speak of " Stevens's " 
is to speak of great auks' eggs ; for 
- 112 - it is here that almost all of these 

costly trifles have changed hands. 
Mr. Henry Stevens, the present representative 
of the firm, can recall selling examples at ^30 
apiece ; but since that time a cracked speci- 
men has fetched 300 guineas under his 
hammer, while in the case of a stuffed skin 
of the extinct bird and its egg, offered 
together, the winning bid was 600 guineas. 
At the present time some seventy-nine known 
examples of the bird and seventy-four eggs 
are recorded. Most of these specimens 
have been in collectors' hands for many years 
past, but in one or two instances extremely 
lucky "finds" have been made. 

Mr. Henry Stevens relates that some years 
ago a young man attended a furniture sale in 
the South of England. He was attracted by 
a miscellaneous collection of shells and birds' was paid for 





eggs in a basket and determined to buy them. 
Save for the fact that a lady seemed equally 
desirous of obtaining the " lot " he would 
probably have gained his object with his first 
bid of i os. However, in the end the young 
man had to pay 36s. 
for his purchase, and 
considered the price 
little short of exorbi- 
tant But he changed 
his opinion subse- 
quently when, on 
examination by an 
expert, two of the 
large eggs in the 
basket proved to be 
those of the great 
auk. Under Mr. 
Stevens's hammer, 
the first — with a tiny 
fracture, buf excep- 
tionally well marked 
— realized 280 
guineas ; while the 

other, which was in much worse condition, 
fetched 175 guineas at the same sale. 

But although in popular esteem the egg of 
the great auk is paramount, many other 
specimens of natural history, of equal or 
even greater interest, are from time to time 
offered at " Ste- 




vensV There is, 
for example, the 
large copper but- 
terfly. Many 
years ago this in- 
sect was common 
in certain parts of 
the Fen district. 
Then, without 
warning and for 
no obvious rea- 
son, it disap- 
peared, became 
extinct, and has 
never since been 
seen. An authen- 
tic British speci- 
men, offered at 
Stevens's, gener- 
ally fetches as 
much as ^5 or 


Of the many 
beautiful exotic 
insects which 
change hands at 
King Street, few- 
awaken such 

romantic interest as the specimen generally 
called the " tailed Ornithoptera." It is a 
strange-looking creature, richly adorned with 
green and gold, while each hind wing termi- 
nates in a quaint tailed appendage. A Ger- 
man collector (Carl 
von Hagner) was the 
first white man to see 
this butterfly. He 
found it upon the 
densely- wooded 
slopes of the Finis- 
terre Mountains in 
New Guinea, twelve 
hundred feet above 
sea - level, and after 
infinite patience and 
trouble managed to 
secure several perfect 
specimens. But the 
unfortunate man was 
denied the satisfaction 
of bringing home his 
unique captures. He 
fell into the hands of a Papuan tribe, and 
was not only done to death, but became a 
victim to their cannibal propensities. 

By some means a portion of the dead 
man's baggage was recovered and sent home 
to Europe, and with it came the wonderful 

butterflies. It is 
said that the first 
specimen offered 
for sale realized 

Besides natural 
history specimens 
and curios innu- 
merable, Mr. 

Stevens has 
"knocked down" 
a large number 
of exceptionally 
interesting his- 
torical relic3. 

interesting "let" 
of this class tha*- 
has been put up 
at " Stevens's f 
was the perfecth 
authentic silken 
under-vest worn 
by King Charles 
L at his execu- 
tion. The gar- 
ment was given 


From a photo, b v \ fetched £200. | J \] \ v [p;\| Trfr^fw^l (_ \] \%n#\ was a fnend 




From a Photo, by Criehton 

of the unfortunate mon- 
arch, and it remained 
in his family until it was 
sold at King Street for 
j 00 guineas. 

At the Dunn-Gardner 
sale at Christie's in 
April, 1902, the unique 
St. Nicholas spoon 
found a buyer at the 
phenomenal price of 
^690. Within the last 
sixty years the piece has 
changed hands three or 
four times — on the first 
occasion, it is said, for 
the comparatively in- 
significant sum of ;£io. 
The spoon is an ex- 
tremely fine specimen 
of old English silver of 
the date 1528. The 
saint — who, it will be 
remembered, is the pro- 
genitor of the modern 
" Santa Claus " — is re- 
presented as raising the 
children from the dead. 
But more notable 
than either of the fore- 
going " lots " was the unrivalled Elizabethan 
salt-cellar which, under Messrs. Christie's 
hammer, realized the record price of ^3,000. 

The piece is al- 
most certainly 
the finest and 
best - preserved 
El i za be than 
salt-cellar in ex- 
istence. It is 
difficult to con- 
vey in a word 
description an 
adequate idea 
of the masterly, 
controlled, yet 
scheme of deco- 
ration. Briefly, 
the salt and 
cover, of silver- 
gilt and rock- 
crystal, stand 
seven and five- 
eighths inches 
high and weigh 
about nine 


the record PRicB op £3,000. ounces, i ne 

From a Photo, by Criektoa Brother*. piece bears the 

London hall-mark for the year 1577, and that 
of the maker— probably Thomas Bampton, 
of the Falcon — a hooded falcon in an escal- 
loped shield. The ,£3,000 paid for this won- 
derful silver-gilt and crystal piece is equal to 
nearly £324 per ounce. 

It should be added that this famous salt- 
cellar, as well as the St. Nicholas spoon, are 
now in the collection of Mr. J. A. Holms, 
of Paisley, but it is to Messrs. Crichton 
Brothers, who were the actual purchasers of 
these unique "lots" at Christie's, that the 
writer is indebted for the accompanying 

Many strange stories have been told 
respecting orchids and the fabulous fortunes 
which have been made by the happy dis- 
coverers of new varieties. For this reason it 
may surprise the reader to be told that the 
record sum paid at auction for a single 
orchid plant stands at 650 guineas. This 
was realized at Messrs. Protheroe and 
Morris's rooms, when a plant of Odonto- 
glossum crispum Cooksania (of which only 
one other example is known to exist) was 
sold to Mr. Peters, a Brussels buyer, for the 
sum. Baron 
Schroder had 
and another 
gentleman 630 
guineas, but 
Mr. Peters was 
determined not 
to be beaten. 
The plant con- 
sisted of one 
old bulb and 
one fine new 
bulb with a 
leaf eight 
inches long. 

It may be 
noted in pass- 
ing that at the 
same sale an- 
other Odonto- 
glossum cris- 
puntj variety 
Franz Mase- 
reel, found a 

purchaser at 570 guineas; this and the 650 
guineas paid by Mr. Peters representing the 
highest bids ever made at auction for single 
orchids. In all, this sale included seventy- 
two lots, the total sum realized being £"5,287. 

So far w©r^yjyft|c|^alt chiefly with "lots*' 





they been so 





From a Photo, by Abraham* A Son*, DemnjxtrL 

minded, might have carried away with them. 
We now turn to auctions of a quite different 
class. Two or three years ago, in the catalogue 
of its periodic "jumble" sales at Portsmouth, 
the Admiralty included a novelty — nothing 
less, in fact, than a fully armed ironclad, the 
Agamemnon, which had for some years swung 
at her moorings off Devonport Dockyard, 
The vessel had long enjoyed the reputation 
of being about the worst battleship ever 
built for the British Navy ; to this she now 
added the further distinction of being the 
first ironclad ever offered in one lot at a public 
auction. The conditions of sale stipulated 
that she must not be removed out of the 
United Kingdom, and that she must be 
broken up within two years. The winning 
bid of ^20,000 was made by the representa- 
tive of Messrs. Oppenheim, and it was con- 
sidered a good 
price in expert 

The Agamemnon 
was built at Chat- 
ham more than 
twenty years ago, 
and cost a quarter 
of a million ster- 
ling. She was an 
armour-plated tur- 
ret ship of 7,410 
tons displacement. 
Her two turrets and 
the citadel ac- 
counted for 5,500 
tons of armour- 
plating. It may 

interest the reader 
to know that, with 
the exception of 
the large armour- 
plates, which were 
bought back by 
the Government, 
and are now, it is 
said, incorporated 
in fortifications at 
Shoeburyness, the 
whole of this vast 
metal structure 
was eventually 
disposed of as 

Apart from the 
Government sales, 
the only important 
ship auctions take 
place at " Kel- 
lock's" — the 
familiar title bestowed upon the Water Street 
premises of the famous Liverpool firm. " Kel- 
lock's " is, in fact, the only private sale-room 
devoted exclusively to the sale of shipping 
properties, either in the old or new world. A 
visit to the establishment is an education in 
modern shipping, for the sale-room and corri- 
dors have been converted into a veritable 
museum of models and relics — souvenirs of 
the innumerable interesting and unique "lots" 
which have come under the hammer. 

At " Kellock's " the famous Great Eastern 
has been disposed of in one lot on half-a- 
dozen separate occasions. A rare engraving 
of the vessel, together with certain docu- 
ments relating to her sale, are preserved by 
the firm as mementoes. In three consecu- 
tive days "Kellock's" once disposed of 
seventy-eight vessels. Needless to say, this 


From a Print in the powedtlfr 


a w. keutcti 




constitutes the firm's record achievement. 
Prominent in Messrs. Kel lock's auction- 
room is a huge white-painted figure-head — 
that of the old wooden battleship Hastings. 
Upon its unoffending cranium the auctioneer 
brings down his hammer with a resounding 
whack as each lot is disposed of. An inscrip- 
tion informs the sightseer that "This figure- 
head represents the last of the wooden walls 
of old England, and was taicen from H.M.S. 
Hastings by Henry Castle and -Sons, ship- 
breakers, Millbank, London, who presented 
it to ' Kellock's ' shipping sale-room as a 
memento of busi- 
ness connection 
extending over half 
a century, God 
save the Queen." 
And thereby hangs 
a tale. Messrs. 
Castle, it appears, 
are willing pur- 
chasers of old 
wooden battle- 
ships. What do 
they do with them? 
Chiefly they make 
them into seats for 
parks and gardens, 
while they sell the 
odd chips by the 
cartload for fire- 
wood. Recently, 

Vol xxxL— 14. 

for example, they sup- 
plied to the London 
parks a number of 
benches made from oak 
which once formed part of 
the fabric of the famous 
old Duke of Wellington. 
From battleship to park 
bench is indeed a fall ! 

From ships, which are 
bulky " lots," we may 
turn to what is, perhaps, 
the largest object ever 
offered for sale at auction 
— nothing less, in fact, 
than Snowdon Moun- 
tain, or at least Snow- 
don Mountain so far as 
it appears in the annexed 
photograph, kindly lent 
to the writer by the auc- 
tioneers, Messrs. Edwin 
Fox and Bousfield. The 
estate, which is freehold, 
comprises about two 
thousand acres of the 
southern and western slopes, with the original 
hotel on the summit of the mountain. It is 
said to possess a large element of profitable 
industry in a slate quarry and other sources 
of mineral wealth. The bidding began with 
one of ^5.000. But subsequent offers were 
by no means encouraging, and ultimately the 
property was " bought in." This was in No- 
vember, 1902. More recently the big "lot" 
was again offered, but still unsuccessfully. 
Speculators seemed to regard Snowdon as a 
white elephant — fortunately, perhaps, for those 
who love the great mountain for its own sake. 






The small 
house known as 
393 (formerly 
387), Commer- 
cial Road, Land- 
port, is, in itself, 
a quite common- 
place residence. 
But the fact that 
in its little front 
bedroom the 
great novelist, 
Charles Dickens, 
first saw the light 
invests it with un- 
usual interest. In 
the early years of 
last century the 
house was ten- 
anted by John 
Dickens, a clerk 
in the Navy Pay 
Office, who had married the sister of a fellow- 
clerk he had met at Somerset House. On 
February 7th, 1812, their second son, Charles 
John Haffham, was born. 

This house had for long been the property 
of the Pearce family, of Portsea, and the 
grandfather of Mr. Pearce (a Portsmouth 
solicitor) was the landlord of John Dickens, 
and is spoken of as the original of " Mr. 
Micawber." Among other articles in the 
possession of the Pearce family is the rent- 
book which proves the Dickens family's 
occupation of the house in question. 

When, therefore, it became known that 
No. 393, Commercial Road, was about to be 
put up to auction, it 
was felt that the house 
should be acquired by 
Dickens's native town. 
Accordingly, the Mayor 
of Portsmouth and 
Alderman Power were 
appointed to effect its 
purchase, provided this 
could be done at a 
reasonable price. The 
first bid of ^400 was 
made by the mayor, 
and offers, which fol- 
lowed quickly, 
ran the price up to 
^900. From this 
point onwards the 
mayor found an oppo- 
nent in a local gentle- 
man, who eventually of- 
fered ;£i,ioo. But a 

Charles dickens's birthplace, sold at auction for £1,12 

strong feeling of 
resentment was 
manifested by 
those present; 
and when the 
mayor advanced 
the bidding to 
^1,125 he was 
not further op- 
posed. The house 
was knocked 
down to him amid 
loud applause. 

In conclusion, 
the writer may 
be pardoned for 
mentioning what 
was surely the 
weirdest auction 
sale on record- 
that of the New- 
gate relics. The 
incident is still fresh in public memory, and 
those who were present on the occasion will 
never forget what they saw and heard. Con- 
sidering that the present is an age of relic- 
hunting, the prices realized by the gruesome 
objects which came under the hammer were 
chiefly notable for their lowness. Thus the 
door of the condemned cell brought ^13 ; 
the steps by which prisoners ascended 
the scaffold jQi 12s.; the " very cupboard 
(according to the auctioneer) from which 
Dennis, the hangman in ' Barnaby Rudge,' 
used to fetch his keys/' ^12 10s. ; and so on. 
The old bell fetched the record price. With 
the condemned cell fittings it was bought by 
Mme. Tussaud's for 
^100. Cast in 1775 by 
Pack and Chapman, of 
London, it bore the fol- 
lowing inscription : — 

Ye people all who hear me 

Be faithful to your God and 


Much more might be 
said respecting the memo- 
ries which are wakened 
by the tap of the auction- 
eer's hammer. Enough 
has been written, how- 
ever, to prove that the 
intelligent frequenter of 
auction - rooms is pro- 
vided with liberal enter- 
tainment and an inti- 
mate knowledge of men 



A Story for Children. 

By E. Nesbit. 




OU know missionaries ?" said 
Cyril, suddenly. 

" Yes," said Anthea, who 
did not know a single one. 

"Well, they always take the 
savages beads and brandy, 
and stays and hats, and really useful things 
—things the savages haven't got, and never 
heard about. And the savages love them 
for their kind generousness, and give them 
pearls and shells and ivory and cassowaries. 
And that's what we've got to do. Next 
time we go into the past well regularly 
fit out the expedition. You remember 
how the Babylonian Queen froze on to that 
pocket-book? Well, we'll take things like 
that, and offer them in exchange for a 
sight of the amulet." 

"A sight of it's not much good." 
" No, silly. But don't you see — when 
we've seen it we shall know where it is, and 
we can go and take it in the night when 
everybody is asleep." 

44 It wouldn't be stealing, would it?" said 
Anthea, thoughtfully, ** because it will be 
such an awfully long time ago when we 
do it." 

The table was soon littered over with 
things which the children thought likely to 
interest the ancient Egyptians. Anthea 
brought dolls, puzzle blocks, a wooden tea- 

service, a green leather case with " Nkessaire " 
written on it in gold letters — Aunt Emma 
had once given it to Anthea, and it had then 
contained scissors, penknife, bodkin, stiletto, 
thimble, corkscrew, and glove-buttoner. The 
scissors, knife, and thimble and bodkin 
were, of course, lost, but the other things 
were there and as good as new. Cyril con- 
tributed lead soldiers, a cannon, a catapult, 
a tin opener, a tie clip, and a tennis-ball and 
a padlock — no key. Robert collected a 
candle ("I don't suppose they ever saw a 
self-fitting paraffin one," he said), a penny 
Japanese pin-tray, a rubber-stamp with his 
father's name and address on it, and a piece 
of putty. 

Jane added a key-ring, the brass handle 
of a poker, a pot that had held cold cream, 
a smoked pearl button off her winter coat, 
and a key — no lock. 

11 We can't take all this rubbish," said 
Robert, with some scorn. " We must just 
each choose one thing." 

" Look here, let's each be blindfolded and 
reach out, and the first thing you touch you 
stick to," said Cyril 

This was done. 

Cyril touched the padlock. 

Anthea got the nfcessaire. 

Robert clutched the candle. 

Jane picked up the tie-clip. 

"It's not much," she said. "I don't 



11 Never mind/' said Anthea. " I believe 
it's luckier not to really choose. In the 
stories it's always the thing the woodcutter's 
son picks up in the forest and almost throws 
away because he thinks it's no good that 
turns out to be the magic thing in the end — or 
else someone's lost it and he is rewarded with 
the hand of the King's daughter in marriage." 

" I don't want any hands in marriage, 
thank you," said Cyril, firmly. 

"Nor yet me," said Robert; "it's always 
the end of the adventures when it comes to 
the marriage hands." 

"Are we ready ? " said Anthea. 

The psammead was coaxed into its bag. 

" I say," said Cyril, suddenly, " the amulet's 
sure to be in a temple. Let's just go among 
the common people, and try to work our- 
selves up by degrees. We might get 
taken on as temple assistants." 

"Like beadles," said Anthea, "or 

" Righto ! " was the general rejoinder. 
The charm was held up. 
It grew big once again, 
and once again the warm, 
golden Eastern light 
glowed softly beyond it. 

As the children stepped 
through it loud and furious 
voices rang in their ears. 
They went suddenly from 
the quiet of Fitzroy Street 
dining-room into a very 
angry Eastern crowd, a 
crowd much too angry to 
notice them. The crowd 
was of men, women, and 
children. They were of 
all sorts of complexions, 
and pictures of them 
might have been coloured by 
any child with a shilling paint- 
box. The colours that child 
would have used for 
plexions would have 
yellow ochre, red ochre, 
red, sepia, and Indian 
But their faces were painted 
already — black eyebrows and 
lashes, and red lips. Tin 
women wore a sort of pinafore 
with shoulder-straps, and loose draperies 
wound round their heads and shoulders. 
The men wore very little clothing, for they 
were the working people, and the Egyptian 
boys and girls wore nothing at all, unless you 
count the little ornaments hung on chains 
round their necks and waists. 

Digitized by V^OOQie 

A voice sounded above the other voices, 
and presently it was speaking in a silence. 

" Comrades and fellow-workers," it said, 
and it was the voice of a tall, coppery-coloured 
man who had climbed into a chariot that 
had been stopped by the crowd. Its owner 
had bolted, muttering about calling the 
guards, and now the man spoke from it. 
" Comrades and fellow-workers, how long 
are we to endure the tyranny of our masters, 
who live in idleness and luxury on the fruits 
of our toil ? They only give us a bare sub- 
sistence wage, and we labour all our lives to 
keep them in wanton luxury. Let us make 
an end of it. Let us take from them the 





land and the means of 
production, and run 
Egypt ourselves for our- 
selves. Egypt for the 
Egyptians ! " 

A roar of applause 
answered him. 

" I heard almost 
every single word of 
that," whispered Robert, "in Hyde Park last 
Sunday ! " 

" Let us strike for more bread and onions 
and beer, and a longer midday rest," the 
speaker went on. " You are tired, you are 
hungry, you are thirsty. You are poor, your 
wives and children are pining for food. The 




barns of the rich are full to bursting with the 
corn we want, the corn our labour has grown. 
To the granaries ! " 

" To the granaries! " cried half the crowd ; 
but another voice shouted clear above the 
tumult, "To Pharaoh! To the King! Let's 
present a petition to the King ! " 

For a moment the crowd swayed one way 
and another — first towards the granaries and 
then towards the palace. Then, with a rush 
like that of an imprisoned torrent suddenly 
set free, it surged along the street towards 
the palace, and the children were carried 
with it. Anthea found it difficult to keep 
the psammead from being squeezed very 

The crowd swept through streets of 
dull-looking houses with few windows, very 
high up, across the market, where people 
were not buying but exchanging goods. In 
a momentary pause Robert saw a basket 
of onions exchanged for a hair-comb, and 
five fish for a string of beads. The 
people in the market seemed better 
off than those in the crowd ; 
they had finer clothes and more 
of them. They were the kind of 
people who, here and now, would 
have lived at Brixton or Brockley. 

" What's the 
trouble now ? " a 
languid, large-eyed 
lady in a crimped, 
linen dress, with 
her black hair very 
much braided and 
puffed out, asked 
of a date-seller. 

"Oh, the work- 
ing men — discon- 
tented as usual/' 
the man answered. 
" Listen to them. 
Anyone would 
think it mattered 
whether they had 
a little more or less 
to eat. Dregs of 
society ! " said the 

"Scum!" said 
the lady. 

"And I've heard 
that before, too," 
said Robert. 

At that mo- 
ment the voice 
of the crowd 

changed from anger to doubt, from doubt to 
fear. There were other voices shouting ; they 
shouted defiance and menace, and they came 
nearer very quickly. There was the rattle of 
wheels, with the pounding of hoofs. A voice 
shouted, "Guards!" 

"The guards ! the guards ! " shouted another 
voice, and the crowd of workmen took up 
the cry, " The guards ! Pharaoh's guards ! n 
And swaying a little once more the crowd 
hung for a moment as it were balanced. 
Then, as the trampling hoofs came nearer, the 
workmen fled, dispersed, up alleys and into 
the courts of houses, and the guards in their 
embossed leather chariots swept down the 
street at the gallop, their wheels clattering over 
the stones, and their dark-blue tunics blown 
open and back with the wind of their 

" So that riot's over," said the crimped 
linen dressed lady, "That's a blessing. And 
did you notice the captain ? What a very 
handsome man he is, to be sure ! " 



Original from 

'nwrrammm^Tr the sTKEti - 



The four children had taken advantage of 
the moment's pause, before the crowd turned 
to fly, to edge themselves and drag each other 
into an arched doorway. 

Now they each drew a long breath and 
looked at the others. 

" We're well out of that? said Cyril. 

" Yes," said Anthea ; " but I do wish the 
poor men hadn't been driven back before 
they could get to the King. He might have 
done something for them." 

" Not if he was the one in the Bible he 
wouldn't," said Jane. " He had a hard 

"Ah, that was the Moses one," Anthea 
explained. " The Joseph one was quite 
different. I should like to see Pharaoh's 
house — I wonder whether it's like the 
Egyptian Court in the Crystal Palace ? " 

" I thought we decided to try to get taken 
on in a temple ? " said Cyril, in injured tones. 

" Yes ; but we've got to get to know some- 
one first. Couldn't we make friends with a 
temple door-keeper? We might gi\e him the 
padlock or something. I wonder which are 
temples and which are palaces," added Robert, 
glancing across the market-place to where an 
enormous gateway with huge side buildings 
towered towards the sky. To right and left 
of it were other buildings only a little less 

" Did you wish to find the temple of 
Amen-Ra ? " asked a soft voice behind them, 
" or the temple of Mut ? or the temple of 
Khonsu ? " 

They turned to find beside them a young 
man. He was shaved clean from head to 
foot, and on his feet were light papyrus 
sandals. He was clothed in a linen tunic of 
white, embroidered heavily. He was gay 
with anklets, bracelets, armlets of gold, richly 
inlaid. He wore a big ring on his finger and 
he had a short jacket of gold embroidery, 
something like the Zouave soldiers wear, and 
on his neck was a gold collar with many 
amulets hanging from it. But among the 
amulets the children could see none like 

" It doesn't matter which temple," said 
Cyril, frankly. 

u Tell me your mission," said the young 
man. "I am a divine father of the temple 
of Amen-Ra, and perhaps I can help you." 

" Well," said Cyril, " we've come from the 
great empire on which the sun never sets." 

" I thought somehow that you'd come from 
some odd, out-of-the-way spot," said the priest, 
with courtesy. 

"And we've seen a good many palaces. 

We thought we should like to see a temple 
for a change," said Robert. 

"Have you brought gifts to the temple?" 
asked the priest, cautiously. 

" We have got some gifts," said Cyril, with 
equal caution. " You see, there's magic 
mixed up in it. So we can't tell you every- 
thing. But we don't want to give our gifts 
for nothing." 

" Beware how you insult the god," said the 
priest, sternly. " I also can do magic. I 
can make a waxen image of you, and I can 
say words which, as the wax image melts 
before the fire, will make you dwindle away 
and at last perish miserably." 

" Pooh ! " said Cyril, stoutly, " that's 
nothing, /can makeyfre itself ! " 

" I should like to see you do it," said the 
priest, unbelievingly. 

"Well, you shall," said Cyril; "nothing 
easier. Just stand close round me." 

" Do you need no preparation — no fasting, 
no incantations ? " The priest's tone was 

" The incantation's quite short," said Cyril, 
taking the hint, " and as for fasting, it's not 
needed in my sort of magic. Hey, presto — 
Union Jack, printing press, gunpowder, Rule 
Britannia, come, Fire, at the end of this little 
stick ! " 

He had pulled a match from his pocket, 
and as he ended the incantation, which con- 
tains i no words that it seemed likely the 
Egyptian had ever heard, he stooped and 
struck the match on his boot. He stood up, 
shielding the flame with one hand. 

" See ? " he said, with modest pride. 
"Here, take it into your hand." 

" No, thank you," said the priest, swiftly 
backing. " Can you do that again ? " 

" Yes." 

" Then come with me to the great double 
house of Pharaoh. He loves good magic, 
and he will raise you to honour and glory. 
There's no need of secrets between initiates," 
he went on, confidentially. "The fact is, I 
am out of favour at present owing to a little 
matter of failure of prophecy. I told him a 
beautiful princess would be sent to him from 
Syria, and lo ! a woman thirty years old 
arrived. But she was a beautiful woman not 
so long ago. Time is only a mode of thought, 
you know." 

The children thrilled to the familiar words. 

" So you know that too, do you ? " said 

" It is part of the mystery of all magic, is 
it not ? " said the priest, " Now, if I bring 
you to Pharaoh, the little unpleasantness I 


i ii 

Ml tUAA„ 


spoke of will be forgotten. And I will ask 
Pharaoh, the Great House, Son of the Sun 
and Lord of the South and North, to decree 
that you shall lodge in the temple. Then 
you can have a good look round and teach 
me your magic, and I will teach you mine." 

This idea seemed good— at least it was 
better than any other which at that moment 
occurred to anybody, so they followed the 
priest through the city. 

The streets were very narrow and dirty. 
The best houses, the priest explained, were 
built within walls twenty to twenty-five feet 
high, and such windows as showed in the 
walls were very high up. The tops of palm 
trees showed above the walls. The poor 
people's houses were little square huts with 
a door and two windows, and smoke coming 
out of a hole in the back. 

The huts were roofed with palm branches, 
and everywhere there were chickens and 
goats and little naked children kicking about 
in the yellow dust. On one roof was a goat, 
which had climbed up and was eating the dry 
palm leaves with snorts and head-tossings of 
delight. Over every house door was some 
sort of figure or shape. 

" Amulets," the priest explained, " to keep 
off the evil eye." 

The palace was much more magnificent 
than anything they had yet seen that day, 

though it would have 
made but a poor show 
beside that of the Baby- 
lonian King. They came 
to it through a great 
square pillared doorway 
of sandstone that stood 
in a high brick wall. The 
shut doors were of mas- 
sive cedar, with bronze 
hinges, and were studded 
with big bronze nails. At 
the side was a little door 
and a wicket - gate, and 
through this the priest led 
the children. He seemed 
to know a word that made 
the sentries make way 
for him. 

Inside was a garden, 
planted with hundreds of 
different kinds of trees 
and flowering shrubs, a 
lake full of fish, with blue 
lotus flowers at the mar- 
gin, and ducks swimming 
about cheerfully. 

u The guard chamber, 
the store-houses, the Queen's house," said 
the priest, pointing them out. 

They passed through open courtyards, 
paved with flat stones, and the priest 
whispered to a guard at a great inner 

"We are fortunate," he said to the 
children. " Pharaoh is even now in the 
Court of Honour. Now, don't forget to be 
overcome with respect and admiration. It 
won't do any harm if you fall flat on your 
faces. And whatever you do, don't speak 
till you're spoken to." 

" There used to be that rule in our 
country," said Robert, " when my father was 
a little boy." 

At the outer end of the great hall a crowd 
of people were arguing with, and even 
shoving, the guards, who seemed not to let 
anyone through unless they were bribed to 
do it. The children heard several promises 
of the utmost richness, and wondered whether 
they would ever be kept. 

All round the hall were pillars of painted 
wood. The roof was of cedar, gorgeously 
inlaid. About half-way up the hall was a 
wide, shallow step that went right across the 
hall ; then, a little farther on, another— and 
then a steep flight of narrower steps leading 
right up to the throne on which Pharaoh sat. 

"^.^fem^WiS* red and white 



crown on his head and his sceptre in his hand. 
The throne had a canopy of wood and wooden 
pillars painted in bright colours. On a low, 
broad bench that ran all round the hall sat 
the friends, relatives, and courtiers of the 
King, leaning on richly-covered cushions. 

The priest led the children up the steps 
till they all stood before the throne ; and 
then, suddenly, he fell on his face with hands 
outstretched. The children did the same, 

"Raise them," 
said the voice 
of Pharaoh, 
" that they may 
speak to me." 

The officers 
of the King's 
raised them. 

"Who are 
these extra- 
Pharaoh asked, 
and added very 
crossly, " And 
what do you 
mean, Rekh- 
mara, by daring 
to come into 
my presence 
while your in- 
nocence is not 
established ? " 

" O great 
King," said the 
young priest, 
" you are the 
very image of 
R a and the 
likeness of his 
son Horus in 
every respect. You know 
the thoughts of the hearts 
of the gods and of men, 
and you have divined 
that these strangers 
the children of 
country of the vile 
conquered Kings of 
empire where me- sun 
never sets. They know 
a magic not known to ■ 
the Egyptians. And they 
come with gifts in their hands as tribute 
to Pharaoh, in whose heart is the wisdom of 
the gods, and on his lips their truth." 

" That is all very well," said Pharaoh, " but 
where are the gifts ? " 






The children, bowing as well as they could 
in their embarrassment at finding themselves 
the centre of interest in a circle more grand, 
more golden, and more highly coloured than 
they could" have imagined possible, pulled 
out the padlock, the nfcessaire^ and the tie- 
clip. " But it's not tribute all the same," 
Cyril muttered. " England doesn't pay 
tribute ! " 

Pharaoh examined all the things with great 

interest when 
the chief of his 
household had 
taken them up 
to him. "Deliver 
them to the 
Keeper of the 
Treasury," he 
said to one near 
him. And to 
the children he 
said : — 

"A small 
tribute, truly, 
but strange and 
not without 
worth. And the 
magic, O Rekh- 
mara ? " 

"These un- 
worthy sons of 
a conquered 

n a t i o n " 

began Rekh- 

"Nothing of 
the kind," Cyril 
w h i s p e r e d , 

" of a 

vile and con- 
quered nation 
can make fire 
to spring from 
dry wood — in 
the sight ot 

"I should 

like to see them 

do it," said 

Pharaoh, just 

as the priest 

had done. 

So Cyr i 1, 

any more ado, did it. 

more magic," said the King, with 




simple appreciation. 

"He " cann^idoi any m inore magic," said 



on her, "because of the voice of the free 
people who are shouting for bread and onions 
and beer and a long midday rest. If the 
people had what they wanted, he could do 

"A rude-spoken girl," said Pharaoh. 
"Give the dogs what they want," he said, 
without turning his head. " Let them have 
their rest and their extra rations. There are 
plenty of slaves to work." 

A richly-dressed official hurried out. 

"You will be the idol of the people," 
Rekh-mara whispered, joyously; "the temple 
of Amen will not contain their offerings." 

Cyril struck another match, and all the 
Court was overwhelmed with delight and 
wonder. And when Cyril took the candle 
from his pocket and lighted it with the 
match, and then held the burning candle up 
before the King, the enthusiasm knew no 

" O greatest of all, before whom sun and 
moon and stars bow down," said Rekh-mara, 
insinuatingly, "am I pardoned? Is my 
innocence made plain ? " 

" As plain as it ever will be, I dare say," 
said Pharaoh, shortly. " Get along with you. 
You are pardoned. Go in peace." The 
priest went, with lightning swiftness. 

"And what," said the King, suddenly, "is 
it that moves in that sack? Show me, O 

There was nothing for it but to show the 

" Seize that monkey," said Pharaoh, care- 
lessly ; " it will be a nice little novelty for my 
wild beast collection." 

And instantly, the entreaties of the children 
availing as little as the bites of the psam- 
mead, though both bites and entreaties were 
fervent, it was carried away from before their 

" Oh, do be careful ! " cried Anthea ; " at 
least keep it dry ! Keep it in its sacred 
house ! " 

She held up the embroidered bag. 

" It's a magic creature," cried Robert ; 
" it's simply priceless." 

" You've no right to take it away," cried 
Jane, incautiously ; " it's a shame — a bare- 
faced robbery, that's what it is." 

There was an awful silence. Then Pharaoh 

" Take the sacred house of the beast from 
them," he said, "and imprison all. To-night 
after supper it may be our pleasure to see 
more magic. Guard them well, and do not 
torture them — yet ! " 

" Oh, dear," sobbed Jane, as they were led 

Vol. xjcxL-15. 

away, " I knew exactly what it would be ! 
Oh, I wish you hadn't ! " 

"Shut up, silly," said Cyril. "You know 
you would come to Egypt. It was your own 
idea entirely. Shut up. It'll be all right." 

" I thought we should play ball with 
Queens," sobbed Jane; "and now every- 
thing's going to be perfectly horrid." 

The room they were shut up in was a 
room, and not a dungeon, as the elder ones 
had feared. That, as Anthea said, was one 
comfort. There were paintings on the wall 
that at any other time would have been most 
interesting. And a sort of low couch, and 

When they were alone Jane breathed a 
sigh of relief. 

" Now we can get home all right ! " she 

" And leave the psammead ? " said Anthea, 

" Wait a sec. I've got an idea," cried 
Cyril. He pondered for a few moments. 
Then he began hammering on the heavy 
cedar door. It opened, and a guard put in 
his head. 

" Stop that row," he said, sternly, "or " 

" Look here," Cyril interrupted, " it's very 
dull for you just doing nothing but guard us. 
Wouldn't you like to see some magic ? We're 
not too proud to do it for you — wouldn't you 
like to see it ? " 

" I don't mind if I do," said the guard. 

" Well, then, you get us that monkey of ours 
that was taken away, and we'll show you." 

" How do I know you're not making game 
of me ? " asked the soldier. " Shouldn't 
wonder if you only wanted to get the creature 
so as to set it on to me. I dare say its teeth 
and claws are poisonous." 

"Well, look here," said Robert "You 
see we've got nothing with us? You just 
shut the door, and open it again in five 
minutes, and we'll have got a magic — oh, I 
don't know — a magic flower in a pot for 

"If you can do that, you can do any- 
thing," said the soldier, and he went out and 
barred the door. 

Then, of course, they held up the amulet, 
walked home through it, and came back with 
a scarlet geranium in full flower, from the 
staircase window of the Fitzroy Street house. 

" Well," said the soldier, when he came 
in, " I really am surprised ! " 

" We can do much more wonderful things 
than that— oh, ever so much," said Anthea, 
persuasively, " if ms cvrrly have our monkey. 
Anc^^rc^tjf]3f-pe:rice for yourself." 

ii 4 


The soldier looked at the two pence. 

" What's this ? " he said. 

Robert explained how much simpler it was 
to pay money for things than to exchange 
them, as the people were doing in the market. 
Later on the 
soldier gave the 
coins to his 
captain, who, 
later still, 
showed them to 
Pharaoh, who, 
of course, kept 
them, and was 
much struck 
with the idea. 
That was really 
how coins first 
came to be used 
in Egypt. You 
will not believe 
this, I dare say ; 
but really, if you 
believe the rest 
of the story, I 
don't see why 
you shouldn't 
believe this as 

11 1 say," said 
Anthea, worried 
by a sudden 
thought, "I 
suppose it'll be 
all right about 
those workmen? 
The King won't 
go back on 
what he said 
about them just 
because he's 
angry with us ?" 

"Qh, no," said the soldier ; "you see, he's 
rather afraid of magic. He'll keep to his 
word right enough." 

"Then that's all right," said Robert ; and 
Anthea said, softly and coaxingly : — - 

"Ah, do get us the monkey, and then 
you'll see some lovely magic. Do— there's 
a nice, kind soldier," 

" I don't know where they've put your 
precious monkey, but if I can get another 
chap to take on my duty here I'll see what I 
can do," he said, grudgingly, and went out. 

" Do you mean," said Robert, " that we're 
going off without even trying for the 

" I really think we'd better," said Anthea, 


" Of course, the amulet's here somewhere, 
or our half wouldn't have brought us here. I 
do wish we could find it. It is a pity we 
don't know any real magic. Then we could 
find out. I do wonder where it is — exactly." 

If they had only 
known it, the amulet 
was very near them. 
It hung round the 
neck of someone, 
and that someone 
was watching them 
through a chink 
high up in the wall, 
specially devised for 
watching people 
who were impri- 
soned. But they 
did not know\ 

There was nearly 
an hour of anxious 
waiting. They tried 
to take an in- 
terest in one 
picture on the 
wall, a picture 
of harpers play- 
ing very odd 
harps and 
women dancing 
at a feast. They 
examined the 
painted plaster 
floor, and the 
chairs, which 
were of white 
painted wood 
with coloured 
stripes at in- 

But the time 
went slowly, and 
everyone had time to think of how Pharaoh 
had said : " Don't torture them— -yet" 

" If the worst comes to the worst," said 
Cyril, " we must just bunk and leave the 
psammead, I believe it can take care of 
itself well enough. They won't kill it or 
hurt it when they find it can speak and give 
wishes. They'll build it a temple, I shouldn't 

" I couldn't bear to go without it," said 
Anthea, "and Pharaoh said 'after supper'; 
that won't be just yet. And the soldier was 
curious. Ini sure we're all right for the 

All the same, the sound of the door being 
unbarred seemed ons of the prettiest sounds 





11 Suppose he hasn't got the psammead ? n 
whispered Jane. 

But that doubt was set at rest by the 
psammead itself, for almost before the door 
was open it sprang through the chink of it 
into Anthea's arms, shivering and hunching 
up its fur. 

11 Here's its fancy overcoat/' said the 
soldier, holding out the bag, into which the 
psammead immediately crept. 

" Now," said Cyril, " what would you like 
us to do ? Anything you'd like us to get for 
you ? * 

"If you can get a strange flower blooming 
in an earthenware vase you can get anything, 
I suppose," he said. " Why not get me two 
men's loads of jewels from the King's treasury? 
That's what I've always wished for." 

At the word " wish " the children knew 
that the psammead would 
attend to that bit of magic. It 
did : and the floor was littered 
with a spreading heap of gold 
and precious stones. 

11 Any other little trick ? n 
asked Cyril, loftily. " Shall we 
become invisible ? Vanish ? " 

" Yes, if you like," said the 
soldier, "but not through the 
door, you don't." 

He closed it carefully and 
set his broad Egyptian back 
against it. 

" No, no ! " cried 
high up among 
the tops of the 
tall wooden pil- 
lars that stood 
against the wall. 
There was a 
sound of some- 
one moving 

The soldier 
was as much sur- 
prised as any- 

11 That's magic, 
if you like," he 

And then Jane 
held up the 
amulet, uttering 


the word of power. At the sound of it, 
and at the sight of the amulet growing 
into the great arch, the soldier fell fiat on 
his face among the jewels with a cry of 
awe and terror. 

The children went through the arch with 
a quickness born of long practice. But Jane 
stayed in the middle of the arch and looked 

The others, standing on the dining-room 
carpet in Fitzroy Street, turned and saw her 
still in the arch. " Someone's holding her," 
cried Cyril ; " we must go back." 

But they pulled at Jane's hands just to see 
if she would come, and of course she did 

Then the arch was little again, and there 
they all were ! 

"Oh, I do wish you hadn't !" Jane said, 

crossly. "It 
was so interest- 
ing. The priest 
had come in and 
he was kicking 
the soldier, and 
telling him he'd 
done it now 
and they must 
take the jewels 
and flee for their 

"And did 
they ? " 

"I don't 
know. You in- 
terfered," said 
fane, ungrate- 
fully " I should 
have liked to 
see the last of 

As a matter 
of fact, none of 
them had seen 
#rs the last of it — 
if by "it" Jane 
meant the 
adventure of the 
priest and the 
soldier and the 
magic the child- 
ren had seen in 



To be continued.) Ori g i n a I f ro m 



Copyright, 1906, by George Newnes, Limited. 

[We shall be glad to receive Contributions to this section^ and to pay for such as are accepted.] 

deluge of letters, the initials are not shown in the 
picture sent you ; but for the information of any 
lady answering the description on the shell, who 
would like to share his lot, I may add that 
Broome is a small place, and with a copy of the 
picture herewith it would not require the assistance 

bus Ml 

kl hi 










.4 J 








^ 1 


"This is the photograph of a chess-board, each 
white square of which is a water-colour drawing. 
The board is eighteen inches square, and covered by 
a piece of thick plate glass, bevelled at the edges. 
The work was executed by myself when I had 
more time and patience than I have now." — Mr. 
C. Dewett, 24, Chestnut Road, Plumstead, S.E. 


" Some time ago the 
daughter of Mr. G. 
Clark, foreman fitter 
for Messrs. S. Pear- 
son and Son, Ltd., 
contractors for the new 
dock at Seaham, who 
lives in Sophia Street, 
Seaham Harbour, was 
peeling a potato, when 
she came to what 
seemed to be a bad 
portion. Judge of her 
astonishment when, as 

of Scotland Yard to locate the pearler. The rough 
impression of a woman's head can be noticed in the 
centre of the shell." — Mr. Harold C. White, 8, 
Wickham Road, Beckenham, Kent. 

** This is a picture, but one of the oddest ever 
made, for it is composed almost entirely of butter. 
The floor on which the girl sits is of butter, as well as 
the figures of the girl, the cow, and the cat. Only 
the milk-can and the grain in the mouth of the 
cow are made of other material. To preserve 
this picture it had to be enclosed in a case of 
thick glass through which passed cold -air pipes to 
keep the butter from melting, so it may be 
called a frozen picture. 11 — Mr. D. A, Willey, 
30, Porter Building, Baltimore, Md. f U.S.A. 

she screwed round the knife, she 
turned a sovereign out of the inno- 
cent-looking tuber. The mystery 
is, how did it get there ?"— Mr. 
F. A. Clark, 7, Sophia St., Sea- 
ham Harbour, near Sunderland. 

** I send you herewith a novel 
marriage proposal. The picture 
enclosed is taken off a mother- 
o'- pearl shell sent with some thou- 
sands of others, for sale in Lon- 
don, by the pearler, who wrote 
the inscription in far - away 
Broom e , VV , A . W ish i ng t o spare 
the would - be Benedict from a 



** Here is a photograph which represents a Chinese 
tea-house in the city of Shanghai, and is called by the 
Chinese themselves ' Woo Sing Ding.' It is of 
special interest on account of its being the original 
tea-house which suggested the idea of the * Willow 

side of a footpath 
not very far from 
Cowden, Kent. I 
have passed this 
board several times 
since the photo, was 
taken, and as I have 
not yet seen this 
4 creeping' some- 
thing (which runs 
wild) I presume it 
to be a ' farmers' 
fright'ner/" — Mr. 
H. Wells, 53, 
London Road, West 

14 It will be seen 
that the dog in the 
photograph is wearing boots, and a muzzle consisting 
of an old jam-tin with air-holes punched in it. It is no 
uncommon sight to see dogs belonging to drovers and 
to swagmen come into the * back block ' towns rigged 

Pattern ' crockery so much used and known all over 
the world.' 1 — Mr. Leonard B. Law ton, Hotel Metro- 
pole, Shanghai, China. 

44 1 send you a photograph of a novelty in fancy 
dress costume, 4 A Grandfather's Clock,' with Youth 
and Old Age in the grip of 4 Time.' It will be 
noticed that * Father Time has taken up his position 
pro Urn. inside the 
case of a complete 
Clock,* and chained 
to him are Youth and 
Old Age, represented 
by the two daughters 
of the inventor, aged 
twelve and thirteen 
years respectively. 
On the back of the 
clock case was * Time 
changeth all things.' 
This novelty was 
awarded the first 
prizes at both the 
afternoon and even- 
ing parades of the 
Aldershot Carnival." 
-Mr. P. Roskilly, 
120, Grosvenor 
Road, Aldershot. 
Photo, by Gale and 
Polden, Ltd. 



44 The photograph 

I send you is of a 

peculiar notice-board % 

which stands by the 

up in this way. Their 
boots are made of 
hide, and are quite 
necessary to protect 
the dogs' feet from 
* binding' (a kind of 
prickly burr) and 
1 grass seed,' as they 
often have to travel 
long distances daily. 
The jam -tin muzzle 
is put on as they get 
near a town to pre- 
vent the dog taking 
the poisoned baits 
which are frequently 
laid about for dingoes 
and other pests. 
Many of the drovers 
and swagmen have 
really good dogs, and 
take every care of 
them. The dog in 
the photo, is the pro- 
perty of Mr. Max 
Soiling, of Moree." 
— Mr. Kenneth 
J. Young, Surveyor, 
LiMoree 1 N.S.W. 



11 1 send you a photograph of a hall-Stand which I 
have made of empty cotton and silk reels. The 
stand measures seven feet high, three feet wide, and 
thirteen inches from hack to front. It is composed 
of three thousand reels, which are of great variety, 

the average measurement of each reel being an inch 
and an eighth in length. It took me about 
four thousand five hundred hours to 'complete the 
stand, which averages one and a half hours to each 
reel. I have stained and polished it ' Chippendale/ 
and can safely say that it looks a beautiful piece of 
furniture. The stand is not supported by any frame- 
work whatever, either iron or wood ; it is made 
entirely of empty reels, and is as strong as any 
ordinary hall-stand, being quite as much as one man 
can move. The empty reels I collected from dress- 
makers in my district. I am a cabinet-maker by 
trade, and am at present busily engaged in making 
two hall chairs to match the stand. '—Mr. Arthur 
Smith, II, Eaton Road, Off Washway Road, Sale, 
Cheshire. Photo, by Mr. E. M. Smith. 

" A steady hand and a keen eye are essentials for 
a feat of this description, and the builder must l>c 
prepared for numerous exasperating failures, which 
are apt to occur even while the focusing for the pro- 
jected picture is being arranged. At one attempt, 
; ust as the plate was being exposed, an in^uisiiivt' th- 

ai ighted on the apex of 
the sugary pyramid, and, 
whether it w r as the con- 
cussion of its numerous 
feet or a fault in the 
structure, the fact re- 
mains, the pile sank into 
a ruined heap. Thirteen 
lumps were employed in 
the erection, and the 
writer has satisfied him- 
self that the addition of 
another lump is an im- 
possibility. The sugar 
was not selected, and the 
pieces came haphazard 
from the bowl surrounding 
the pyramid. The photo. 
was taken by Mr. C, A. 
Landon, 17A, Kad bourne 
Road, Clapham Park.'* 


"The curious circular 
which I send you should 

amuse some of your readers. Our friends, the Japs, are 
very willing to learn our language, but their efforts 
are sometimes as unsuccessful as they are amusing. 
The wording of - the circular speaks for itself." — Mr. 
A. S. Tuxford, 10, D'Aguilar Street, Hong-Kong. 




This is called "WonderfUl 
Art of Trail Substantiation" 
which is famous in the World but 
this is the first time to play in 
Hongkong* -^ . <■ 

The play ar^such as A gpntleman coming out and conver- 
ting hraiRelf like a skeleton in a minute, a lantern into a cage of 
sparrows flymg about, a dog into a rabbit and a cat, and a curious 
picture of man smoking cigar into the nun's mouth and cigar 
having smoke to come out. There are alill many carious arts 

which wt* can't write all in this paper. 

Play at House Xo, 137 1 Des Vceax Road 

Day time 1 p.m. to 4 p.m. every day. 
Night time 7 p.m. to 9 p.m. and 9 p.m. to 11 p.m. 
every night. 

1st class day time.. 70 cents 

2nd „ „ N 60 

3rd » >■ n - -. 30 „ 

1st „ night , $1.00 

2nd b m » * ......70 oents 

3rd „ , 40 „ 

Small bov charge half price, ^ 
Lomenciny on the %pth v--*— *— 7905. 

WUI Go. 








RATS ! * 

"This pretty series of photographs represents a 
Yorkshire terrier posing as a chrysanthemum, which 
gradually evinces unmistakable signs of animal life 
and spirits. In the first three the body of the clog is 
enveloped in the curtain which forms the background. 
The wording beneaO was originally printed merely 
for the amusement 0/ myself and friends, the name, 
4 I^a Raggiole,' beir„7 derived from ' Rags/ the dogs 
name. The first photo, was submitted as a 

specimen of a show chrysanthemum to the com- 
mittee of a local Chrysanthemum Society, who, 
without exception, were completely deceived, pro- 
nouncing it an almost perfect bloom ' It might 
also interest Thk S IK AND readers to know that, 
in arranging the four tableaux, my wife and I 
spent about three hours, and nearly exhausted our 
combined stock of patience/' — Mr. E. Harrison, 
Langley Villa, Rirbv Street, Stapleford. 

figure's downward course became well defined in a 
broad streak on the negative." — Mr. Robert Allsopp, 
Jun., 19.V, King wood Una', Fulharn. The photographs 
were taken by Mr, C. Zambia. 

** I send you photographs of a sensational 
dive accomplished by Frank Hurley at the 
Nottingham Exhibition. The diver 

Cetrol for the purpose, and he is * ignited * 
y one of his assist ants just before taking 
the leap. Tl !a P^ wav t>f 

course, taken at night, and the burning 

Original from 




" Some very amusing dogs can 
be made in the following way from 
pieces of string or tissue paper. 
Take a piece of thin string, about 
nine inches in length (that which 
the grocer ties round the packets 
of tea, and such like, is the best), 
and twist it up as light as possible by holding 
one end between the teeth and the other end 
with the fingers. Now double the string, and 
it will be found that each half will twist round 
the other, but not so tight as it should be, so it 
should be twisted again as much as possible. The 
whole secret of the making of a string dog really lies 
in the twisting of the string before being doubled, as 
explained above. If you try and twist a piece of 
string when doubled without having previously 
twisted it up tightly you will find that it will come 
unwound again almost directly. When the string 
has been doubled and twisted round in the proper 
manner it appears as in Fig. I. The next thing to 
be done is to pull the string out as indicated in 














FIG. 3. 









Fig. 2. (This is best done by the aid of a 
pin.) After having pulled the string apart, as shown 
in Fig. 2, the two pieces of string pulled out (and 
marked I and 2) should themselves be twisted round 
tightly. It will be found that they have an inclina- 
tion to twist round without aid. The dogs head 
and ears have now been made. Now commence to 
pull out the string in a similar fashion as shown in 
Fig. 3, and twist round again as before, and the fore 
legs will be completed. For making the fore legs 
the string should be pulled out where marked A in 
Fig. 2. The hind legs and tail are now treated in 
exactly the same manner as the fore legs were made, 
only the string should be pulled out where marked 
B in Fig. 2. When the hind legs are completed the 
inch or so of string over represents the tail, and the 
dog is now completed, as shown in Fig, 4. If the 
tail is considered to be too long it may be shortened 
with a pair of scissors. The illustrations shown 
above (of the string dogs only) represent the 
dogs in the various stages and completed. Now, 
to make the dogs out of paper, only thin, strong 

tissue should be used. The paper required should 
be alxmt nine inches in length and half an inch in 
width. Twist the paper fairly tightly, as shown in 
Fig- S» an ^ then twist it very tightly, as in Fig. 6, 
Now double it and twist again, and deal with in the 
same manner as with the string." — Mr. F. Maudling, 
5, l^awn Crescent, Kew Gardens, S.W. 

11 Below is a photograph of half a nautilus shell. 
These sections are very difficult to make, and five or 
six shells are spoilt ere one is satisfactorily cut. 
Hence, while a nautilus shell may be bought for 
three or four shillings, one cut into halves is worth 
from one pound to thirty shillings. The section 
shows well the curious arrangement of the shell, and 
how, as it grows, the mollusc keeps adding one 
watertight partition after another.' The tube con- 
necting these is filled with living matter, and its 
existence is thought to keep the unoccupied portions 
of the shell healthy and free from decay. The old 
notion was that this tube enabled the nautilus to fill 
or empty its many compartments at will, and thus 
rise or sink in the water like a submarine. Despite 
its attractions, this story must be discarded as a 
'happy fiction' by those who wish to discover 'the 
truth and nothing but the truth ' about Nature. The 
nautilus spends most of its life at the bottom of the 
sea, in deep water. It occasionally appears on the 
surface, and, when it does so, there can be no doubt 
that it feels its shell to be all the lighter for its many 
air chambers. But the said chambers are never filled 
with water, so when the creature desires to return to 
its native sea-bed it has to rely upon its own efforts and 
the law of gravitation — in other words, to swim down." 
— Mr. Percy Collins, The Ilatherley Rooms, Reading. 

(""rw^nL'' Original from 



From a Photo, fty Broun. CUmenttt d- Co. Parti. 
Selected by the Artist as his Best Picture. 


(See page 128. j 


Original from 

Vol. xxxi. 

The Strand Magazine. 

FEBRUARY, 1906. 

No. 182 

"My Best Pichtrer 

By Adrian Makgaux. 

AINTING is cosmopolitan in 
a sense that literature and the 
drama are not, the language 
of form and colour being the 
same in every country. The 
pictorial art of foreign countries 
has thus a popular interest in itself, but this 
interest is greatly increased to the extent to 
which it illustrates national life, thought, and 
feeling. In a series of articles on this subject 
care will be taken that the painters whose 
work is introduced to the readers of The 
Strand Magazine are representative of the 
countries to which they belong, and that the 

pictures reproduced are characteristic of the 
powers which have won them this pre- 
eminence, As the best way of attaining this 
latter object, reliance has been placed on the 
choice of the painters themselves. 

A foreigner in England wishing to become 
acquainted with its representative painters 
would naturally turn first to the list of 
members of the Royal Academy of Arts. 
France has no institution exactly correspond- 
ing to our Royal Academy, with its forty 
members and thirty associates, consisting of 
painters, sculptors, and architects. The body 
most nearly analogous is the "Academic 


Selected by the Artist as 






des Beaux - Arts," which is a branch of 
the great Institute of France, embracing all 
the liberal arts and sciences. The Academy 
of Fine Arts is limited to thirty members, 
thirteen seats being allotted to painters. Like 
our Royal Academy it conducts a school of 
art, but it does not hold exhibitions of work. 
For this latter purpose two important societies 
have come into independent existence— the 
Soci&e des Artistes, or the Salon, and the 
Socidtd Nationale des Beaux-Arts, or the 
New Salon — and members of the Academy 
of Fine Arts have exhibited indifferently 
under the auspices of both. In this article 
eight members of the Academy, with the 
President of the Salon, the Vice-President of 
the New Salon, and a representative "out- 
sider " — to use an English phrase — have 
made choice of one of their pictures for its 

No living French artist is, probably, so 
well known on this side of the Channel as 
M. Edouard Detaille, and his " Sortie of the 
Garrison " and " Le Reve n will doubtless be 
recalled by many readers. It is not to any 
of his familiar masterpieces that he refers, 
however, when inquiry is made as to his 
favourite picture, but to a work, " Vers la 

Gloire," which was exhibited at the Salon 
only last year. This work is destined, how- 
ever, to adorn the Pantheon in Paris, the 
beautiful building which, since the death of 
Victor Hugo, has been set apart by the 
French Government as a temple of national 
heroes. M. Detaille mentioned this work at 
once in reply to my question, inasmuch as 
upon it he has concentrated all his strength, 
with the knowledge that it would always be 
on view in the national Valhalla, an enduring 
memorial of his art for posterity. 

" During three* years," the artist tells me, 
" I worked at this decoration, which has 
three panels, each ten metres high by three 
wide. A part of this time I was working at 
another composition which eventually did 
not satisfy me — it represented in allegory the 
chant de depart during the wars of the French 
Revolution. I found that the painting would 
not have sufficient height for the wall of the 
Pantheon, and that it would not be seen very 
well from a distance. I chose another theme, 
therefore, better adapted to the place allotted, 
and having more movement in the air — that 
is to say, the subject of 'To Glory.' 

"The cavaliers of the wars of the Revo- 
lution and of the Empire are depicted, in 



)ri gin ai Tram 

From a Pfwio. by J. E. BuUo*, Pari*. 



apotheosis, precipitating themselves towards 
the figure of Glory, which crowns the trophies 
of conquest. It is a kind of triumphant rise 
such as would present itself in a dream." 

The famous painter of battles has nearly 
always taken military glory for his theme. 
A student of the great Meissonier, his first 
Salon picture in 1867 was of "A Corner 

M. Ferdinand Humbert, who has been 
elected a member of the Academy within the 
last two years, is best known at the Salon for 
his subject - pictures, chiefly sacred and 
Oriental in character. But it was of his 
portraits that he thought when considering 
my inquiry. He was at first disposed to 
choose his portrait of Lady Stanley, exhibited 


From a Photo, by Braun, Clement* <£ Ck., Paris. 

Sklfctkd my thk Aktist as his Best Picture. 


of the Studio " of the master, but this was 
followed next year by " The Halt of the 
Drummers." In 1872 M. Detaille, who was 
then only twenty-four, became celebrated as 
the painter of "The Victors," a picture of 
German soldiers plundering after a French 
defeat in the w r ar of 1870. The picture was 
not hung at the Salon by order of the 
Government, but it was, nevertheless, awarded 
a medal by the jury. M. Detaille has been a 
member of the Academy since 1892. 

in 1904. But on further reflection he gave 
the preference to that of his own country- 
woman, the Marquise de Breteuil, which was 
not seen at the Salon, but was exhibited two 
years ago under the auspices of a well-known 
art club of Paris, the " Cercle de TUnion 

" I have endeavoured," said M. Humbert, 
in explaining the reason for his choice, " in 
this work to re ndbflthcfl aristocratic grace and 

«NflWffi#ITTOMfl^ bears the narae 


of one of the most noble families of France. 
You will probably know that His Majesty 
the King of England is a personal friend of 
the Marquise, who had the honour of 
receiving him at luncheon during his last 
visit to Paris." 

M. Humbert has been an exhibitor at the 

had carried out by the leading French artists 
in its palatial head-quarters. M. Bonnat told 
me that his second choice would have been 
a picture on the walls of the same building — 
" St. Vincent de Paul "—so much has he 
striven to give his best art to the city of 
Paris. Among portraits — and M. Bonnat 



m * 


i j 

-Li./ . 



t ( ifr 


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HT 1 1 ■! W 

4 1 


K *? * ,^1 

~$g|fc Hl 


14 11 







A* ' 


' < jim^ 


From a Photo, by Rraun, CMmetitt <& Co., Pari*. 

Selected by the Artist as his Best Picture. 


Salon for forty years, his first picture, " The 
Flight of Nero," being accepted in 1865, 
when he was in his twenty-third year. A 
Parisian by birth and temperament, it has 
been counted much to his artistic zeal that, 
for the sake of preparing some of his pic- 
tures, he should have made long sojourns in 
Algeria and the East. But although so good 
a Parisian, M. Humbert, I believe, has a 
sincere admiration for the art of England, 
and his portraiture, as may be seen from the 
example given, is not a little suggestive of 
one or two of the old English masters. 

The decoration of the ceiling at the Paris 
Hotel de Ville — a symbolical representation 
of " The Triumph of Art " — was chosen by 
M. Leon Joseph Bonnat, who is the doyen 
of the Academie des Beaux-Arts, as the 
greatest of his work, the work by which he 
would wish to go dowTi to posterity. The 
picture, reproduced on the previous page, is a 
predominant feature in the lavish decorative 
scheme which the Municipality of Paris has 

has enjoyed a great reputation for portraiture 
of men of intellectual eminence — he would 
give precedence to those of Thiers and 
Victor Hugo. 

At the age of seventy-two M. Bonnat, as I 
have indicated, is the senior Academician, 
At the age of thirty-four he carried off the 
greatest prize in French art, the " Prix de 
Rome/' and his career has been one of 
brilliant success ever since, the Salon award- 
ing him its medal of honour in 1868. Most 
of his principal pictures have religious themes, 
and several adorn cathedrals and churches. 

M, Jules Breton, who is a veteran of nearly 
eighty, and takes second place to M. Bonnat 
in Academic seniority, shares the popular 
preference for his picture, " The First Com- 
municants." The pathetic episode of the 
first communion in the domestic life of 
Catholic families has always been a favourite 
subject with French painters, but none has 
rendered it so successfully as M. Breton. 
Exhibitetyffl. j^jif ^p^i^w^ears later 



at an auction in New York for nine thousand 
five hundred pounds, the purchaser being a 
gentleman of Montreal, whose house it has 
since adorned. This sum then represented 
the highest price which had been paid for the 
work of a living artist. 

The studies lor the picture, M Breton tells 
me, were made in the neighbourhood of 
Etaples, the well-known fishing village and 
artists' resort, in the Department of the Pas 
de Calais, which is not far from the painter's 
birthplace. The farm on the left of the 
picture is at the hamlet of Villers, which is 
endeared to him by many recollections of his 
childhood. M. Breton, who is a poet as well 

village. Two or three years later, at the age 
of twenty-two, he began to exhibit at Paris, 
where he studied with the intention of 
becoming an historical painter. 

" My picture, 4 The Descent from the 
Cross/" said M. Jean Beraud, Vice-President 
of the New Salon, in describing the work by 
which — for its comparative originality— he 
wished to be represented in The Strand 
Magazine, " which I painted at Montmartre, 
was exhibited in 1902. It was a sequel to 
'The Magdalene at the Pharisees' House,' 
exhibited in 1901, which was the first 
religious picture modernized. You know 
that this idea of representing the Apostles as 


From a Photo, by Bmttn, CUmenUtt Co., Par iff. 
Selected bv the Artist as his Best Picture. 


as a painter, composed a piece of verse on 
the completion of this picture, which is to be 
found in his book, M Le Peintre Paysan w 
(" The Peasant Painter "). 

The son of a land agent, spending the 
whole of his early life in the country, M. 
Jules Breton has obtained world wide fame 
as the painter of rustic scenes and incidents. 
The cultivation of the soil in its varied 
aspects of reaping and sowing has been his 
constant theme, and, as women and girls in 
France work regularly side by side with the 
men, it has for the French artist greater 
picturesque possibilities. M. Breton's first 
picture, "St. Piat Preaching to the Gauls," 
was painted for the church of his native 

persons of our own epoch has since been 
imitated by many artists. My aim, when I 
began this series, was to impress the public 
and revive the taste for Christian art. This 
reversion to a practice of the Old Masters, 
after having been very warmly discussed, has 
ended, as I have just said, in being adopted 
by artists of all countries." 

M. Beraud is, as this picture would suggest, 
one of the most realistic of Parisian painters. 
He made his name at the Salon a few years 
ago with a picture which was catalogued as 
"The Return from the Funeral," but was 
generally described as "The Burial of Mother- 
in-Lavv" on the boulevards and in the papers. 

11 m^siTrm^Giffl % ures - th « 



husband, having removed his funeral hat and 
gloves, is complacently lighting a cigarette, 
whilst the wife, bending over a table, is 
weeping bitterly. 

For the purpose of painting open-air 
scenes in Paris M. Beraud has hit upon an 
ingenious device. Instead of searching for 
models and posing them in his studio, the 
artist hires a closed cab, drives to the spot 
selected for his picture, and from the inside 
of the vehicle, with the canvas perched on 
the seat and with palette in his hands, works 
away for two or three hours, painting the 
figures in their natural movements against 

ber of the Academy since 1891, has con 
tributed important works to most of the 
public collections of France, from the 
Luxembourg downwards. But it is not one 
of these that he mentions in reply to my 
question. The choice of the famous figure- 
painter falls on " The Bride," because it best 
fulfils the purpose with which it was painted. 
This purpose, as ML Ivefebvre explains, was 
one of exceptional interest : — 

"This work was executed by me in 1882 
for Mr. Vanderbilt, on the occasion of the 
marriage of his daughter, as a souvenir of this 
event. I composed it in the neo-Greek style 


From a Photo, by Branu, Clements A Co., Paris. 
Selected bv the Artist as one ok his Best Pictures. 

the real background. The unusual sight 
attracts a small crowd, but their inquisitive- 
ness is kept within due bounds by the drawn 
blinds of the cab on its more accessible 
side, whilst the police, having true artistic 
sympathies, good-humouredly refrain from 
raising any complaint of obstruction. M. 
Beraud's reputation rests in the main upon 
these pictures of Paris street life, together 
with such studies in artificial lighting as "At 
the Cafe Concert » and "The Public Ball." 
M. Beraud, it is of interest to add, was a 
pupil of Bonnat about the time of the war 
with Germany, and took his part in the 
defence of Paris. 

M. Jules Lefebvre, who has been a mem- 

in order that I might idealize the scene and 
render it more poetic. The group of young 
people — brothers and sisters — are admiring 
the young bride, and are without the charm 
of her virginal beauty." 

During the last twenty years M. Lefebvre, 
who is in his seventieth year, has had the 
reputation of a fashionable portrait-painter, 
but he is most widely known for his nude 
female figures, such as "La Verite" (in the 
Luxembourg), " Psyche," " La Cigale," etc. 
He has in his time taken all the honours 
which French art has to bestow. 

The President of the Salon, M. Robert- 
Fleury, found it impossible to decide between 
the ri^'^M^JFWfK^tt*^, "Warsaw, 




Prom a Photo, by Brmm, CWmenU £ Co., Pari*. 
Selected by the Artist as onk of his Best Pictures. 

1 861" and "Anxiety." He desired that 
both should be reproduced, because together 
they well illustrated the development of his 
art, " Warsaw ;I being painted quite early in 
his career and " Anxiety n only a year or two 
ago. The former represents a tragic incident 
in the Polish insurrection — the massacre of 

four thousand inhabitants of Warsaw, men, 
women, and children, by the Czar's troops 
on April 8th, 1861. "Anxiety," which so 
clearly explains itself, makes a striking con- 
trast, and it is significant of M. Robert- 
Fleury's catholic feeling as an artist that his 
affection should be equally divided between 


Vol xxxi.- i7. 


Front « Phato. by Brautt, CUmenU J: Co.. Parti. 
Selectep by the Artist as his Best Pictume, 

3y IJpUOglCT 




his presentment of historical drama and 
domestic pathos. 

11 Warsaw " is the better remembered by 
the artist because it secured for him in 1866, 
when he was in his thirtieth year, his first 
medal from the Salon. Only four years later 
M. Robert-Fleury won the medal of honour, 
and he was placed among the masters. 
Inherited talent partly accounted for this rapid 
rise to fame, his father having been a very 
distinguished painter in his time. 

The choice of ML Dagnan-Bouveret like- 
wise wavered between two subjects — " Bretons 
at Prayer," quite a hackneyed theme for 
French painters, but presented by him with 

successfully depicted the piety of the Bretons, 
their quaint, old-world costumes and simple 
demeanours, amidst the picturesque back- 
ground of a typical village. The artist did 
not tell me the particular place in Brittany 
which he had in view when painting the 
picture. It is probably composed from a 
number of studies made during a summer 

A Parisian by birth, a pupil of Gerome, 
the great classical painter, M. Dagnan- 
Bouveret in later life— he is fifty-three — has 
become the leader of a movement in French 
art which may be described as a return to the 
simplicity of Nature. In the painting of such 


From a Photo. 6y Braun w VlentenU *£ Co,, Pari*. 

Selected bv tiik Aktist as his Best Picture* 



considerable freshness, and " The Conscripts," 
a group of young men, peasant, farmer, 
student, leaving their native village to perform 
their military service. Both subjects are 
characteristic of M. Dagnan - Kouveret's 
present-day work, although in earlier years 
he made excursions into mythology, whilst 
one of the most notable of his Salon pictures 
was of a Shakespearean scene, " Hamlet and 
the Grave- Diggers." 

M. Pascal Dagnan-Bouveret has made 
Brittany and its people in recent years a 
happy working ground for his brush, and it is 
not surprising that his preference should be 
in favour of a picture in which has been most 

Digitized by UOOQ I V 

pictures as " Bretons at Prayer " he has 
cultivated a sincere love for the country and 
its life, and, like many another of his less 
distinguished confreres, it is to the country 
that he now goes when he wants fresh 
inspiration in his work. 

M. Aime Morot, who, with MM. Dagnan- 
Bouveret and Cormon, is one of the 
youngest of the painter-members of the 
Academy, gives his preference to a battle 
picture—" Charge of Cuirassiers n — although 
to the French public he is probably quite 
as much known by his representations of 
religious faith as by those of military glory. 
His reputation dat«;sf|^fp the early age of 




twenty three, when he won the 1873 "Prix 
de Rome " with a large canvas depicting 
" The Captivity of the Jews in Babylon." 

ML Morot's favourite picture is based upon 
an incident in the Battle of Reichshofen, on 
August 6th, 1870, when the French cavalry 
performed one of the many acts of gallantry 

Let me here introduce the favourite picture 
of a successful "outsider/' as M. Francois 
Brunery would be called if he were an 
English artist. M. Brunery's success has 
been won in almost entirely one groove of 
work. He has taken as his special theme 
the bright, festive side of the life of monks, 


From a Photo, by Neurdrin Frirt*, Pari*. 
Selected by the Artist as his Best Picture. 


which characterized it during the disastrous 
war with Germany. As an historical souvenir 
of the event the work was bought by the 
Government and placed in the Musee de 

bishops, and cardinals — mediaeval and modern 
— and the picture chosen for reproduction in 
The Strand Magazine, "The Return of a 
Missionary 'i is . one. of a series conceived 
in much M'^mV'Mt. This spirit is 

I 3 2 


somewhat satirical, perhaps, at the expense of 
the ecclesiastics, but in "The Return of a 
Missionary," at any rate, the satire can 
hardly be considered offensive by any- 
one. It consists in the contrast between 
the spare figure and somewhat cadaverous 
features of the monk, who has returned from 
the hardship and peril of work among the 
heathen, and the well-fed and well nourished 
stay-at-home ecclesiastics, who are listening 
with a keen sense of humour to his tale of woe. 
This and similar pictures by M. Brunery 
have won recognition by their faithful 

"It is my weakness," said M. Fernand 
Cormon, in replying to my request, " that as 
soon as I have finished a picture it ceases to 
have any interest for me." 

Nevertheless, the artist was able to suggest 
two pictures as representing him — in his own 
opinion— at his best: "Cain" and "The 
Conquerors of Salamis.' To " Cain " — which 
was purchased by the Government, on its 
exhibition in 1880, for the national collection 
at the Luxembourg — M. Cormon gave the 
first place, and it is accordingly reproduced 
in this article. Painted at the age of thirty- 


By permiuion of Hear*. Qovtpil <£ Co. 
Selfxtkd by the Aktist as his Best Picture. 


accuracy of detail as well as by their piquant 
humour. The salons in which his Church 
dignitaries disport themselves have their 
exact counterparts in the old ecclesiastical 
palaces of Italy, where M. Brunery has made 
innumerable studies, whilst their historical 
" properties " are painted from a large collec- 
tion of such articles gathered together in his 
studio. A native of Turin, M. Brunery 
settled in Paris in 1869, becoming a pupil 
of G^rome and Bonnat, and it is as a 
French artist that he has long been regarded. 

five, he has since produced nothing that 
pleases him so well, although several of his 
subsequent pictures, such as " The Funeral 
of a Chief of the Iron Age " and " The 
Arabian Nights," have received more popular 

By the best critics in French art, it 
may be added, M. Cormon is most esteemed 
for his pictures of prehistoric subjects, to 
which he has devoted not merely great 
artistic skill, but also a large amount of 
archaeological knowledge. 

by Google 

Original from 





S in a dream Nigel heard these 
stupendous and incredible 
words. As in a dream also he 
had a vision of a smiling and 
conciliatory Abbot, of an ob- 
sequious sacrist, and of a band 
of archers who cleared a path for him and 
for the King's messenger through the motley 
crowd who had choked the entrance of the 
Abbey Court A minute later he was walk- 
ing by the side of Chandos through the 
peaceful cloister, and in front, in the open 
archway of the great gate, was the broad 
yellow road between its borders of green 
meadowland. The spring air was the sweeter 
and the more fragrant for that chill dread of 
dishonour and captivity which had so recently 
frozen his ardent heart. He had already 
passed the portal when a hand plucked at his 
sleeve, and he turned to find himself con- 
fronted by the brown, honest face and bold 
eyes of the archer who had interfered in his 

" Well," said Aylward, " what have you to 
say to me, young sir ? " 

" What can I say, my good fellow, save 
that I thank you with all my heart ? By 
St. Paul, if you had been my blood- 
brother you could not have stood by me 
more stoutly." 

" Nay ; but this is not enough." 

Nigel coloured with vexation, and the more 
so as Chandos was listening with his critical 
smile to their conversation. 

" If you had heard what was said in the 
court," said he, "you would understand that I 
am not blessed at this moment with much of 
this world's gear. The Black Death and the 
monks have between them been heavy upon 
our estate. Willingly would I give you a 
handful of gold for your assistance, since 
that is what you seem to crave, but indeed I 
have it not, and so, once more, I say that 
you must be satisfied with my thanks." 

" Your gold is nothing to me," said Ayl- 
ward, shortly, "nor would you buy my loyalty 
if you filled my hufken with rose-nobles so 
long as you were not a man after my own 
heart. But I have seen you back the yellow 
horse and I have seen you face the Abbot 
of Waverley, and you are such a master as 
I would very gladly serve if you have by 
chance a place for such a man. I have seen 

your following, and I doubt not that they 
were stout fellows in your grandfather's time, 
but which of them now could draw a bow- 
string to his ear ? Through you I have left 
the service of the Abbey of Waverley, and 
where can I look now for a post ? If I stay 
here I am all undone like a fretted bow- 

" Nay, there can be no hindrance there," 
said Chandos. " Pardieu ! a roystenng, 
swaggering, dare-devil archer is worth his 
price on the French border. There are two 
hundred such who march behind my own 
person, and I would ask nothing better than 
to see you amongst them." 

" I thank you, noble sir, for your offer," 
said Aylward, " and I had rather follow your 
banner than many another one, for it is well 
known that it goes ever forward, and I have 
heard enough of the wars to know that there 
are small pickings for the man who lags 
behind. Yet, if the squire will have me, I 
would choose to fight under the five roses of 
Loring, for though I was born in the hundred 
of EaseLourne and the rape of Chichester, 
yet I have grown up and learned to use the 
long-bow in these parts, and as the free son 
of a free franklin I had rather serve my own 
neighbour than a stranger." 

"My good fellow," said Nigel, "I have told 
you that I could in no wise reward you for 
such service." 

" If you will but take me to the wars, I 
will see to my own reward," said Aylward. 
" Till then I ask for none, save a corner of 
your table and six feet of your floor, for it is 
certain that the only reward I would get 
from the Abbey for this day's work would be 
the scourge for my back and the stocks for 
my ankles. Samkin Aylward is your man, 
Squire Nigel, from this hour on, and by these 
ten finger-bones he trusts the devil will fly 
away with him if ever he gives you cause to 
regret it." So saying, he raised his hand to 
his steel cap in salute, slung his great yellow 
bow over his back, and followed on some 
paces in the rear of his new master. 

" Pardieu ! I have arrived k la bonne 
heure," said Chandos. " I rode from 
Windsor and came to your manor-house to 
find it empty save for a fine old dame, who 
told me of your troubles. From her I 
walked across to the Abbey, and none too 
soon, for what with clothyard shafts for your 
body, and bell, book, and candle for your 
soul, it was no very cheerful outlook. But 

Copyright, 1906, by A. Con an Doyle, in 






here is the very dame herself, if I mistake 

It was indeed the formidable figure of the 
Lady Ermyntrude — gaunt, bowed, and lean- 
ing on her staff, which had emerged from the 
door of the manor-house and advanced to 
greet them. She croaked with laughter, and 
shook her stick at the great building as she 
heard of the discomfiture of the Abbey 
Court. Then she led the way into the hall, 
where the best which she could provide had 
been laid out for their illustrious guest. 
There was Chandos blood in her own veins, 
traceable back through the de Greys, de 
Multons, de Valences, de Montagues, and 
other high and noble strains, so that the 
meal had been eaten and cleared before 
she had done tracing the network of inter- 
marriages and connections, with quarterings, 
impalements, lozenges, and augmentations by 
which the blazonry of the two families might 
be made to show a common origin. Back 
to the Conquest, and before it, there was 
not a noble family tree every twig and bud 
of which was not familiar to the Dame 

And now, when the trestles were cleared 
and the three were left alone in the hall, 
Chandos broke his message to the lady. 

" King Edward hath ever borne in mind 
that noble knight your son, Sir Eustace," 
said he. " He will journey to Southampton 
next week, and I am his harbinger. He bade 

me say, noble and 
honoured lady, that 
he would come from 
Guildford in an easy 
stage, so that he 
might spend one 
night under your 

The old dame 
flushed with plea- 
sure, and then 
turned white with 
vexation at the 

" It is in truth 
great honour to the 
house of Loring," 
said she, " yet our 
roof is now humble 
and, as you have 
seen, our fare is 
plain. The King 
knows not that we are so poor. I fear lest we 
seem churlish and niggard in his eyes." 

But Chandos reasoned away her fears. 
The King's retinue would journey on to 
Farnham Castle. There were no ladies in 
his party. Though he was King, still he was 
a hardy soldier, and cared little for his ease. 
In any case, since he had declared his 
coming they must make the best of it. 
Finally, with all delicacy, Chandos offered 
his own purse if it would help in the matter. 
But already the Lady Ermyntrude had 
recovered her composure. 

11 Nay, fair kinsman, that may not be," said 
she. " I will make such preparation as I may 
for the King. He will bear in mind that, if 
the house of Loring can give nothing else, 
they have always held their blood and their 
lives at his disposal." 

Chandos was to ride on to Farnham Castle 
and beyond, but he expressed his desire to 
have a w F arm bath ere he left Tilford ; for, 
like most of his fellow knights, he was much 
addicted to simmering in the hottest water 
that he could possibly endure. The bath, 
therefore, a high hooped arrangement like a 
broader but shorter churn, was carried into 
the privacy of the guest chamber, and thither 
it was that Nigel was summoned to hold him 
company whilst he stewed and sweltered in 
his tub, Nigel perched himself upon the 
side of the high bed, swinging his legs over 
the edge, and gazing with wonder and amuse- 
ment at the quaint face, the ruffled yellow 
hair, and the sinewy shoulders of the famous 
warrior, dimly seen amid a pillar of steam. 
He was in a mood for talk, so Nigel, with 




eager eyes, plied him with a thousand ques- 
tions about the wars, hanging upon every 
word which came back to him, like those of 
the ancient oracles, out of the mist and the 
cloud. To Chandos himself, the old soldier 
for whom war had lost its freshness, it was a 
renewal of his own ardent youth to hear 
Nigel's rapid questions and to mark the 
rapt attention with which he listened. 

11 Tell me of the Welsh, honoured sir," 
asked the squire. "What manner of soldiers 
are the Welsh ? " 

u They are very valiant men of war," said 
Chandos, splashing about in his tub. " There 
is good skirmishing to be had in their valleys 
if you ride with a small following. They 
flare up like a furze bush in the flames, but 
if for a short space you may abide the heat 
of it, then there is a chance that it may be 
cooler ! " 

" And the Scotch ? " asked Nigel. " You 
have made war upon them also, as I under- 

" The Scotch knights have no masters in 
the world, and he who can hold his own with 
the best of them, be it a Douglas, a Murray, or 
a Seaton, has nothing more to learn. Though 
you be a hard 
man, you will 
always meet as 
hard a one if 
you ride north- 
ward. If the 
Welsh be like 
the furze fire, 
then, pardieu ! 
the Scotch are 
the peat, for 
they will smoul- 
der, and you 
will never come 
to the end of 
them. I have 
had many happy 
hours on the 
marches of Scot- 
land, tor even if 
there be no war 
the Percies of 
Alnwick or the 
Governor of 
Carlisle can still 
raise a little 
bickering with 
the Border clans." 

" I bear in mind that 
my father was wont to 
say that they were very ^ 
stout spearmen." 

11 No better in the world, for the spears are 
twelve foot long, and they hold them in very 
thick array ; but their archers are weak, save 
only the men of Ettrick and Selkirk, who 
come from the forest. I pray you to open 
the lattice, Nigel, for the steam is over thick. 
Now, in Wales it is the spearmen who are 
weak, and there are no archers in these 
islands like the men of Gwent, with their 
bows of elm, which shoot with such power 
that I have known a cavalier to have his 
horse killed when the shaft had passed 
through his mail-breeches, his thigh, and his 
saddle. And yet, what is the most strongly- 
shot arrow to these new balls of iron driven 
by the fire-powder, which will crush a man's 
armour as an egg is crushed by a stone? 
Our fathers knew them not." 

" Then the better for us," cried Nigel, 
" since there is at least one honourable 
venture which is all our own." 

Chandos chuckled and turned upon the 
flushed youth a twinkling and sympathetic 

"You have a fashion of speech which 
carries me back to the old men whom I met in 
my boyhood," said he. "There were some of 

the real old knights- 
errant left in those 
days, and they spoke 
as you do. 
Young as you 
are, you belong 
to another age. 
Where got you 
that trick of 
thought and 

11 1 have only 
had one to 
teach me — the 
Lady Ermyn- 

"Pardieu! she 
has trained a 
proper young 
hawk ready to 
stoop at a 
lordly quarry," 
said Chandos. 
"I would that 
I had the first 
unhooding of 
you. Will you 
not ride with 
me to the wars ? " 

The tears brimmed over 
you have a fashion of sperch which carrirs f rom Nigel's eyes, and he 

HACK TO THE OLD MEN WHOM I MET LN, J*Y, j .. . I I p - ..- ° t J 11 

hoyhood/ said HE." n wr&Wg Ti the gaunt hand 




extended from the bath. " By St. Paul, what 
could I ask better in the world? I fear to leave 
her, for she has none other to care for her. 
But if it can in any way be arranged " 

"The King's hand may smooth it out. Say 
no more until he is here. But if you wish to 
ride with me " 

"What could man wish for more? Is 
there a squire in England who would not 
serve under the banner of Chandos ? Whither 
do you go, fair sir ? And when do you go ? 
Is it to Scotland? Is it to Ireland? Is it 
to France? But alas, alas ! ,; 

The eager face had clouded. For the 
instant he had forgotten that a suit of armour 
was as much beyond his means as a service 
of gold plate Down in a twinkling came 
all his high hopes to the ground. Oh, these 
sordid material things, which come between 
our dreams and their fulfilment ! The squire 
of such a knight must dress with the best. 
Yet all the fee simple of Tilford would scarce 
suffice for one suit of plate. 

Chandos with his quick wit and knowledge 
of the world had guessed the cause of this 
sudden change. 

" If you fight under my banner it is for me 
to find the weapons," said he. " Nay, I will 
not be denied." 

But Nigel shook his head sadly. 

" It may not be. The Lady Ermyntrude 
would sell this old house and every acre 
round it ere she would permit me to accept 
this gracious bounty which you offer. Yet I 
do not despair, for only last week I won for 
myself a noble war-horse, for which I paid 
not a penny, so perchance a suit of armour 
may also come my way." 

" And how won you the horse ? " 

44 It was given me by the monks of 

44 This is wonderful. Pardieu ! I should 
have expected, from what I have seen, that 
they would have given you little save their 

44 They had no use for the horse, and they 
gave it to me." 

44 Then we have only to find someone who 
has no use for a suit of armour and will give 
it to you. Yet I trust that you will think 
better of it and let me — since that good lady 
proves that I am your kinsman — fit you for 
the wars." 

44 1 thank you, noble sir, and if I should 
turn to anyone it would indeed be to you, 
but there are other ways which I would try 
first But I pray you, good Sir John, to tell 
me of some of your noble spear-runnings 
against the French, for the whole land rings 

with the tale of your deeds, and I have heard 
that in one morning three champions have 
fallen before your lance. Was it not so ? " 

44 That it was indeed so these scars upon 
my body will prove; but these were the 
follies of my youth." 

44 How can you call them follies ? Are 
they not the means by which honourable 
advancement may be gained and one's lady 

44 It is right that you should think so, 
Nigel. At your age a man should have a 
hot head and a high heart. I also had both, 
and fought for my lady's glove or for my vow, 
or for the love of fighting. But as one grows 
older and commands men one has other 
things to care for. One thinks less of one's 
own honour and more of the safety of the 
army. It is not your own spear, your own 
sword, your own arm which will turn the 
tide of fight, but a cool head may save a 
stricken field. He who knows when his 
horsemen should charge and when they 
should fight on foot, he who can mix his 
archers with his men-at-arms in such a fashion 
that each can support the other, he who can 
hold up his reserve and pour it into the battle 
when it may turn the tide, he who has a quick 
eye for boggy land and broken ground, that 
is the man who is of more worth to an army 
than Roland, Oliver, and all the Paladins." 

44 Yet if his knights fail him, honoured sir, 
all his headwork will not prevail." 

44 True enough, Nigel ; so may every squire 
ride to the wars with his soul on fire, as yours 
is now. But I must linger no longer, for the 
King's service must be done. I will dress, 
and when I have bid farewell to the noble 
Dame Ermyntrude I will on to Farnham, 
but you will see me here again on the day 
that the King comes." 

So Chandos went his way that evening, 
walking his horse through the peaceful lanes 
and twanging his citole as he went, for he 
loved music and was famous for his merry 
songs. The cottagers came from their huts, 
and laughed and clapped as the rich, full 
voice swelled and sank to the cheery tinkling 
of the strings. There were few who saw him 
pass that would have guessed that the quaint, 
one-eyed man with the yellow hair was the 
toughest fighter and craftiest man of war in 
Europe. Once only, as he entered Farnham, 
an old broken man-at-arms ran out in his 
rags and clutched at his horse as a dog 
gambols round his master. Chandos threw 
him a kind word and a gold coin as he passed 
on to the Castle. 

In the meanwhile young Nigel and the 




Lady Ermyntrude, left alone with their diffi- 
culties, looked blankly in each others faces, 

"The cellar is well-nigh empty," said 
Nigel. " There are two firkins of small beer 
and a tun of canary. How can we set such 
drink before the King and his Court ? n 

" We must have some wine of Bordeaux. 
With that and the mottled cow's calf, and 
the fowls, and a goose, we can set forth a 
sufficient repast if he stays only for the one 
night. How many will be with him ? n 

" A dozen, at the least." 

The old dame wrung her hands in despair. 

" Nay, take it not to heart, dear lady," said 
Nigel. "We have but to say the word, and 
the King would stop at Waverley, where he 
and his Court would find all 
that they could wish." 

11 Never ! " cried the Lady 
Ermyntrude. " It would be 
shame and disgrace to us for 
ever if the King w T ere to pass 
our door when he has gra- 
ciously said that he was fain 
to enter in. Nay, I will do 
it. Never did I think that I 
would be forced to this ; but 
I know that he would wish 
it, and I will do it." 

She went to the old iron 
coffer and, taking a small 
key from her girdle, she un- 
locked it. The rusty hinges, 
screaming shrilly as she threw 
back the lid, proclaimed how 
seldom it was that she had 
penetrated into the sacred 
recesses of her treasure-chest. 
At the top were some relics 
of old finery — a silken cloak 
spangled with golden stars, 
a coif of silver filigree, a roll 
of Venetian lace. Beneath 
were little packets tied in 
silk, which the old lady 
handled with tender care : a 
man's hunting glove, a 
child's shoe, a love -knot 
done in faded green ribbon, some letters in 
rude rough script, and a vernicle of St. 
Thomas. Then from the very bottom of the 
box she drew three objects, swathed in silken 
cloth, which she uncovered and laid upon 
the table. The one was a bracelet of rough 
gold studded with uncut rubies, the second 
was a gold salver, and the third was a 
high goblet of the same metal. 

"You have heard me speak of these, 
Nigel, but never before have you seen them, 

Vol, xxxi.-18. 

for indeed I have not opened the hutch for 
fear that we might be tempted in our great 
need to turn them into money. I have kept 
them out of my sight and even out of my 
thoughts. But now it is the honour of the 
house which calls, and even these must go. 
This goblet was that which my husband, Sir 
Nele Loring, won after the intaking of 
Belgarde, when he and his comrades held 
the lists from matins to vespers against the 
flower of the French chivalry. The salver 
was given him by the Earl of. Pembroke in 
memory of his valour upon the field of 

"And the bracelet, dear lady?" 

"You will not laugh, Nigel?" 


^ . 


"Nay; why should I laugh?" 

" The bracelet was the prize for the Queen 
of Beauty which was given to me before all 
the high-born ladies of England by Sir Nele 
Loring a month before our marriage. The 
Queen of Beauty, Nigel — I, old and twisted, 
as you see me. Five strong men went down 
before his lance before he won that trinket 
for me. And now, in my last years ?J 

" Nav, dear and honoured lady, we will 
not part rfifflOKral from 




" Yes, Nigel ; he would have it so. I can 
hear his whisper in my ear. Honour to him 
was everything — the rest nothing. Take it 
from me, Nigel, ere my heart weakens. 
To-morrow you will ride with it to Guildford, 
you will see Thorold the goldsmith, and you 
will raise enough money to pay for all that 
we shall need for the King's coming." She 
turned her face away to hide the quivering of 
her wrinkled features, and the crash of the 
iron lid covered the sob which burst from 
her overwrought soul. 



It was on a bright June morning that young 
Nigel, with youth and springtime to make his 
heart light, rode upon his errand from Tilford 
to Guildford town. Beneath him was his 
great yellow war-horse, caracoling and curvet- 
ing as he went, as blithe and free of spirit as 
his master. In all England one would scarce 
have found upon that morning so high- 
mettled and so debonair a pair. The sandy 
road wound through groves of fir, where the 
breeze came soft and fragrant with resinous 
gums, or over heathery downs, which rolled 
away to north and to south, vast and un- 
tenanted, for on the uplands the soil was 
poor and water scarce. Over Crooksbury 
Common he passed, and then across the 
great heath of Puttenham, following a 
sandy path which wound amid the bracken 
and the heather, for he meant to strike 
the Pilgrims' Way where it turns east- 
ward from Farnham and from Seale. As 
he rode he continually felt his saddle-bag 
with his hand, for in it, securely strapped, 
he had placed the prep ious treasures of the 
Lady Ermyntrude. As he saw the grand 
tawny neck tossing before him and felt the 
easy heave of the great horse and heard the 
muffled drumming of his hoofs, he could have 
sung and shouted with the joy of living. 

Behind him, upon the little brown pony 
which had been Nigel's former mount, rode 
Samkin Aylward, the bowman, who had 
taken upon himself the duties of personal 
attendant and bodyguard. His great 
shoulders and breadth of frame seemed 
dangerously top-heavy upon the tiny steed, 
but he ambled along, whistling a merry lilt, 
and as light-hearted as his master. There 
was no countryman who had not a nod, and 
no woman who had not a smile, for the jovial 
bowman, who rode for the most part with his 
face over his shoulder, staring at the last 
petticoat which had passed him. Once only 

he met with a harsher greeting. It was from 
a tall, white-headed, red-faced man whom 
they met upon the moor. 

"Good morrow, dear father," cried Ayl- 
ward. " How is it with you at Crooksbury ? 
And how is the new black cow, and the ewes 
from Alton, and Mary the dairymaid, and all 
your gear ? " • 

" It ill becomes you to ask, you ne'er-do- 
weel, " said the old man. " You have angered 
the monks of Waverley, whose tenant I am, 
and they would drive me out of my farm. 
Yet there are three more years to run, and, 
do what they may, I will bide till then. But 
little did I think that I should lose my home- 
stead through you, Samkin, and, big as you 
are, I would knock the dust out of that green 
jerkin with a good hazel switch if I had you 
at Crooksbury." 

" Then you shall do it to-morrow morning, 
good father, for I will come and see you 
then. But indeed I did not do more at 
Waverley than you would have done your- 
self. Look me in the eye, old hot-head, and 
tell me if you would have stood by while the 
last Loring — look at him, as he rides, with 
his head in the air and his soul in the clouds 
— was shot down before my very eyes at 
the bidding of that fat monk ! If you would, 
then I disown you as my father." 

" Nay, Samkin, if it was like that, then per- 
haps what you did was not so far amiss. But 
it is hard to lose the old farm when my very 
heart is buried deep in the good brown soil." 

"Tut, man, there are three years to run, 
and what may not happen in three years? 
Before that time I shall have gone to the 
wars, and when I have opened a French 
strong-box or two you can buy the good 
brown soil and snap your fingers at Abbot 
John and his bailiffs. Am I not as proper a 
man as Tom Withstaff of Churt ? And yet 
he came back after six months with his 
pockets full of rose-nobles and a French 
wench on either arm." 

" Heaven preserve us from the wenches, 
Samkin ; but indeed I think that if there is 
money to be gathered you are as likely to 
get your fist full as any man who goes to the 
war. But hasten, lad, hasten ! Already your 
young master is over the brow." 

Thus admonished, the archer waved his 
gauntleted hand to his father and, digging 
his heels into the sides of his little pony, soon 
drew up with the squire. Nigel glanced over 
his shoulder and slackened speed until the 
pony's head was up to his saddle. 

" Have I not heard, archer," said he, " that 
an outlaw has been loose in these parts ? " 



" It is true, fair sir. He was villein to Sir 
Peter Mandeville, but he broke his bonds 
and fled into the forests. Men call him the 
Wild Man of Puttenham." 

" How comes it that he has not been 
hunted down? If the man be a drawlatch 
and a robber, it would be an honourable deed 
to clear the country of such an evil" 

"Twice the sergeants-at-arms from Guild- 
ford have come out against him, but the fox 
has many earths, and it would puzzle you to 
get him oat of them." 

"By St. Paul, were my errand not a 
pressing one I would be tempted to turn 
aside i.nd seek him. Where lives he, then ? " 

" There is a great morass beyond Putten- 
ham, and across it there are caves in which 
he and his people lurk." 

" His people \ He hath a band ? " 

11 There are several with him." 

" It sounds a most honourable enterprise," 
said Nigel. " When the King hath come 
and gone we will spare a 
day for the outlaws of Put- 
tenham. I fear there is 
little chance for us to see 
them on this journey." 

" They prey upon the 
pilgrims who pass along the 
Winchester road, and they 
are well loved by the folk 
in these parts, for they rob 
none of them and have an 
open hand for all who will 
help them," 

"It is right easy to have 
an open hand with the 
money that you have 
stolen," said Nigel, " but I 
fear that they will not try to 
rob two men with swords 
at their girdles like you 
and me, so we shall have 
no profit from them." 

They had passed over 
the wild moors and had 
come down now into the 
main road by which the 
pilgrims from the West of 
England made their way 
to the national shrine at 
Canterbury. It passed from 
Winchester and up the 
beautiful valley of the 
Itchenuntil it reached Farn- 
ham, where it forked into 
two branches, one of which 
ran along the Hog's Back, 
while the second wound to 

the south and came out at St. Catherine's 
Hill, where stands the pilgrim shrine, a grey 
old ruin now, but once so august, so crowded, 
and so affluent. It was this second branch 
upon which Nigel and Aylward found them- 
selves as they rode to Guildford. No one, 
as it chanced, was going the same way as 
themselves, but they met one large drove 
of pilgrims returning from their journey, 
with pictures of St Thomas and snails' 
shells or little leaden ampulla in their hats 
and bundles of purchases over their shoulders. 
They were a grimy, ragged, travel-stained 
crew, the men walking, the women borne on 
asses. Man and beast they limped along as 
if it would be a glad day when they saw their 
homes once more. These and a few beggars 
or minstrels, who crouched among the heather 
on either side of the track in the hope of 
receiving an occasional farthing from the 
passers-by, were the only folk they met until 
they had reached the village of Puttenham. 







Already there was a hot sun, and just breeze 
enough to send the dust flying down the 
road, so they were glad to clear their throats 
with a glass of beer at the ale-stake in the 
village, where the fair ale-wife gave Nigel a 
cold farewell because he had no attentions 
for her, and Aylward a box on the ear because 
he had too many. 

On the farther side of Puttenham the road 
runs through thick woods of oak and beech, 
with a tangled undergrowth of fern and 
bramble. Here they met a patrol of sergeants- 
of-arms, tall fellows, well-mounted, clad in 
studded-leather caps and tunics, with lances 
and swords. 

They walked their horses slowly on the 
shady side of the road, and stopped as the 
travellers came up, to ask if they had been 
molested on the way. 

" Have a care," they added, " for the Wild 
Man and his wife are out. Only yesterday 
they slew a merchant from the west and took 
a hundred crowns." 

" His wife, you say ? " 

" Yes ; she is ever at his side, and has saved 
him many a time, for if he has the strength 
it is she who has the wit. I hope to see 
their heads together upon the green grass one 
of these mornings." 

The patrol passed downwards towards 
Farnham, and so, as it proved, away from the 
robbers, who had doubtless watched them 
closely from the dense brushwood which 
skirted the road. Coming round a curve 
Nigel and Aylward were aware of a tall and 
graceful woman who sat, wringing her hands 
and weeping bitterly, upon the bank by the 
side of the track. At such a sight of beauty 
in distress Nigel pricked Pommers with the 
spur, and in three bounds was at the side of 
the unhappy lady. 

" What ails you, fair dame ? " he asked. 
" Is there any small matter in which I may 
stand your friend, or is it possible that 
anyone hath had so hard a heart as to do you 
an injury ? " 

She rose and turned upon him a face full 
of hope and entreaty. 

" Oh, save my poor, poor father ! " she 
cried. " Have you, perchance, seen the way- 
wardens? They passed us, and I fear they 
are beyond reach." 

" Yes ; they have ridden onwards, but we 
may serve as well." 

" Then hasten, hasten, I pray you ! Even 
now they may be doing him to death. They 
have dragged him into yonder grove, and I 
have heard his voice growing ever weaker in 
the distance. Hasten, I implore you ! " 

Digitized by OoOgle 

Nigel sprang from his horse and tossed 
the rein to Aylward. 

"Nay, let us go together. How many 
robbers were there, lady ? " 

" Two stout fellows." 

"Then I come also." 

"Nay, it is not possible," said Nigel. 
" The wood is too thick for horses, and we 
cannot leave them in the road." 

" I will guard them," cried the lady. 

" Pommers is not so easily held. Do you 
bide here, Aylward, until you hear from me. 
Stir not, I command you ! " So saying, Nigel, 
with the light of adventure gleaming in his 
joyous eyes, drew his sword and plunged 
swiftly into the forest. 

Far and fast he ran from glade to glade, 
breaking through the bushes, springing over 
the brambles, light as a young deer, peering 
this way and that, straining his ears for a 
sound, and catching only the cry of the 
wood-pigeons. Still on he went, with the 
constant thought of the weeping woman 
behind and of the captured man in front. 
It was not until he was footsore and out of 
breath that he stopped with his hand to his 
side, and considered that his own business 
had still to be done, and that it was time 
once more that he 'should seek the road to 

Meantime Aylward had found his own 
rough means of consoling the woman in the 
road, who stood sobbing with her face against 
the side of Pommers' saddle. 

" Nay, weep not, my pretty one," said he. 
" It brings the tears to my own eyes to see 
them stream from thine." 

" Alas ! good archer, he was the best of 
fathers, so gentle and so kind. Had you but 
known him you must have loved him." 

" Tut, tut ; he will suffer no scathe. Squire 
Nigel will bring him back to you anon." 

" No, no ; I shall never see him more. 
Hold me, archer, or I fall ! " 

Aylward pressed his ready arm round the 
supple waist. The fainting woman leaned 
with her hand upon his shoulder. Her pale 
face looked past him, and it was some new 
light in her eyes — a flash of expectancy, of 
triumph, of wicked joy — which gave him 
sudden warning of his danger. He shook 
her off and sprang to one side, but only just 
in time to avoid a crashing blow from a great 
club in the hands of a man even taller and 
stronger than himself. He had one quick 
vision of great white teeth clenched in grim 
ferocity, a wild flying beard, and blazing 
wild-beast eyes,: a : r The next instant he had 




The man lay still enough, 
for he was half-stunned by 
the crashing fall. Aylward 
looked round him, but the 
woman had disappeared. 
At the first blow struck 
she had vanished into the 
forest. He began to have 
fears for his master, think- 
ing that he, perhaps, had 
been lured into some death- 
trap, but his forebodings 
were soon set at rest, for 
Nigel himself came hasten- 
ing down the road, which 
he had struck some dis- 
tance from the spot where 
he left it. 

"By St Paul !" he cried, 
"who is this man on whom 
you are perched, and 
where is the lady who has 
honoured us so far as to 
crave our help ? Alas, that 
I have been unable to find 
her father ! " 

"As well for 




sir," said Aylward, " for I 
am of opinion that her 
father was the devil. This 
woman is, as I believe, the 
wife of the Wild Man of 
Puttenham, and this is 
the Wild Man himself 
who set upon me and 
tried to brain me with his 

closed, ducking his head beneath another 
swing of that murderous cudgel. With 
his arms round the robber's burly body 
and his face buried in his bushy beard, 
Aylward gasped and strained and heaved. 
Back and forward in the dusty road the two 
men stamped and staggered, a grim wrestling- 
match with life for the prize. Twice the 
great strength of the outlaw had Aylward 
nearly down, ami twice with his greater youth 
and skill the archer restored his grip and his 
balance. Then at last his turn came. He 
slipped his leg behind the other's knee and, 
giving a mighty wrench, tore him across it. 
With a hoarse shout the outlaw toppled back- 
wards, and had hardly reached the ground 
before Aylward had his knee upon his chest 
and his short sword deep in his beard and 
pointed to his throat. 

" By these ten finger-bones/' he gasped, 
" one more struggle and it is 

the grip of a bear," 
was a coward deed 
hold me while you 
with a stick. It is 

3» r dgK 

The outlaw, who had 
opened his eyes, looked with a scowl from 
his captor to the new-comer. 

" You are in luck, archer," said he, " for I 
have come to grips with many a man t but I 
cannot call to mind any who have had the 
better of me." 

" You have indeed 
said Aylward, " but it 
that your wife should 
dashed out my brains 
also a most villainous thing to lay a snare for 
wayfarers by asking for their pity and 
assistance, so that it was our own soft hearts 
which brought us into such danger. The 
next who hath real need of our help may 
suffer for your sins." 

"When the hand of the whole world is 
against you," said the outlaw, in a surly voice, 
" you must fight as you best can." 

"You well deserve to be hanged, if only 
because ycQrhpm I brought this woman, who 




is fair and gentle spoken, to such a life," said 
Nigel. " Let us tie him by the wrist to my 
stirrup-leather, Aylward, and we will lead him 
into Guildford." 

The archer drew a spare bow-string from 
his case, and had bound the prisoner as 
directed when Nigel gave a sudden start and 
cry of alarm. 

" Heaven help us !" he cried. " Where is 
the saddle-bag ? " 

It had been cut away by a sharp knife. 
Only the two ends of strap remained. 

Aylward and Nigel 
stared at each other 
in blank dismay. (<HEAVEN tULr usl . HK 
1 hen the young saddle 

squire shook his 

clenched hands and pulled at his yellow curls 
in his despair. "The Lady Ermyntrude's 
bracelet ! My grandfather's cup ! " he cried. 
" I would have died ere I lost them. What 
can I say to her? I dare not return until I 
have found them. Oh, Aylward, Aylward ! 
how came you to let them be taken ? " 

The honest archer had pushed back his 
steel cap and was scratching his tangled 

11 Nay, I know nothing of it. You never 
said that there was aught of price in the bag, 
else had I kept a better eye upon it. Certes, 

it was not this fellow who took it, since I 
have never had my hands from him. It can 
only be the woman who fled with it while we 

Nigel stamped about the road in his 

" I would follow her to the world's end if 
I knew where I could find her, but to search 
these woods for her is to look for a mouse in 
a wheat-field. Good St. George ! thou who 
didst overcome the dragon, I pray you, by 
that most honourable and knightly achieve- 
ment, that you will be 
with me now ; and you 
also, great St. Julian, 
patron of all wayfarers 
in distress ! Two candles 
shall burn before your 
shrine at Godalming if 
you will but bring me 
back my saddle - bag. 
What would I not give to 
have it back ? " 

" Will you give me my 
life ? " asked the outlaw. 
11 Promise that I go free 
and you shall have it 
back, if it be indeed true 
that my wife has taken it." 
" Nay ; I cannot do 
that," said Nigel. "My 
honour would surely be 
concerned, since my loss 
is a private one, but it 
would be to the public 
scathe that you should go 
free. By St. Paul, it 
would be an ungentle 
deed if, in order to save 
my own, I let you loose 
upon the gear of a hun- 
dred others." 

11 1 will not ask that 
you let me loose," said 
the Wild Man. " If you 
will promise that my life 
be spared I will restore your bag." 

" 1 cannot give such a promise, for it 
will lie with the sheriff and reeves of 

" Shall I have your word in my favour ? " 
u That I could promise you, if you will 
give back the bag, though I know not how 
far my word may avail. But your words are 
vain, for you cannot think that we will be so 
fond as to let you go in the hope that you 
return ? " 

14 1 would not ask it," said the Wild Man, 
" for I can get your bag and yet never stir 


BAG?" * 



from the spot where I stand. Have I your 
promise, upon your honour and all that you 
hold dear, that you will ask for grace ? " 

" You have." 

" And that my wife shall be unharmed ? " 

" I promise it." 

The outlaw laid back his head and uttered 
a long, shrill cry like the howl of a wolf. 
There was a silent pause, and then, clear 
and shrill, there rose the same cry no great 
distance away in the forest. Again the Wild 
Man called, and again his mate replied. A 
third time he summoned, as the deer bells to 
the doe in the green wood. Then with a 
rustle of brushwood and snapping of twigs 
the woman was before them once more — 
tall, pale, graceful, w r onderful. She glanced 
neither at Aylward nor Nigel, but ran to the 
side of her husband. 

" Dear and sweet lord," she cried, " I trust 
they have done you no hurt. I waited by 
the old ash, and my heart sank when you 
came not." 

" I have been taken at last, wife." 

" Oh, cursed, cursed day ! Let him go, 
kind, gentle sirs ; do not take him from me ! " 

"They will speak for me at Guildford," 
said the Wild Man. " They have sworn it. 
But hand them first the bag that you have 

She drew it out from under her loose 

41 Here it is, gentle sir ! Indeed, it went 
to my heart to take it, for you had mercy 
upon me in my trouble. But now r I am, as 
you see, in real and very sore distress. Will 
you not have mercy now ? Take ruth on us, 
fair sir ! On my knees I beg it of you, most 
gentle and kindly squire." 

Nigel had clutched his bag, and right 
glad he was to feel that the treasures were 
all safe within it. 

" My promise is given," said he. " I will 
say what I can, but the issue rests with 
others. I pray you to stand up, for indeed 
I cannot promise more." 

"Then 1 must be content," said she, 
rising with a composed face. " I have prayed 
you to take ruth, and indeed I can do no 
more ; but ere I go back to the forest I 
would rede you to be on your guard, lest you 
lose your bag once more. Wot you how I 
took it, archer ? Nay, it was simple enough, 
and may happen again, so I make it clear to 
you. I had this knife in my sleeve, and 
though it is small it is very sharp. I slipped 
it down like this. Then when I seemed to 
weep with my face against the saddle, I cut 
down like this " 


In an instant she had shorn through the 
stirrup leather which bound her man, and 
he, diving under the belly of the horse, had 
slipped like a snake into the brushwood. In 
passing he had struck Pommers from beneath, 
and the great horse, enraged and insulted, 
was rearing high with two men hanging to his 
bridle. When at last he had calmed there 
was no sign left of the Wild Man or of his 
wife. In vain did Aylward, an arrow on his 
string, run here and there among the great 
trees and peer down the shadowy glades. 
When he returned he and his master cast a 
shamefaced glance at each other. 

"I trust that we are better soldiers than 
jailers," said Aylward, as he climbed on to 
his pony. 

But Nigel's frown relaxed into a smile. 

" At least we have gained back what we 
lost," said he. "Here I place it on the 
pommel of my saddle, and I shall not take 
my eyes from it until we are safe in Guildford 

So they jogged on together, until passing 
St. Catherine's shrine they crossed the 
winding Wey once more, and so found them- 
selves in the steep High Street, with its heavy- 
eaved, gabled houses, its monkish hospitium 
upon the left, where good ale may still be 
quaffed, and its great square-keeped Castle 
upon the right, no grey and grim skeleton of 
ruin, but very quick and alert, with blazoned 
banner flying free and steel caps twinkling 
from the battlement. A row of booths 
extended from the Castle gate to the High 
Street, and two doors from the Church of the 
Trinity was that of Thorold the goldsmith, a 
rich burgess and mayor of the town. He 
looked long and lovingly at the rich rubies and 
at the fine work upon the goblet. Then he 
stroked his flowing grey beard as he pondered 
whether he should offer fifty nobles or sixty, 
for he knew well that he could sell them 
again for two hundred. If he offered too 
much his profit would be reduced. If he 
offered too little the youth might go as far as 
London with them, for they were rare and 
of great worth. The young man was ill-clad 
and his eyes were anxious. Perchance he 
w r as hard pressed and was ignorant of the 
value of what he bore. He would sound 

" These things are old and out of fashion, 
fair sir," said he. "Of the stones I can 
scarce say if they are of good quality or 
not, but they are dull and rough. Yet, if 
your, price be low, I may add them to my 
stocky though indeed this booth was made to 
sell and not to buy. What do you ask ? " 





Nigel bent his 
brows in per- 
plexity* Here 
was a game in 
which neither his bold 
limbs could help him. 



heart nor his active 
It was the new force 

war —wearing him 
him through the 
him as his bond- 

mastering the old— the man of 
conquering the man of 
down and weakening 
centuries until he had 
servant and his thrall. 

" I know not what to ask, good sir," said 
Nigel. " It is not for me, nor for any man 
who bears my name, to chaffer and to haggle. 
You know the worth of these things, for it is 
your trade to do so. The Lady Ermyntrude 
lacks money, and we must have it against the 
King's coming, so. give me that which is 
right and just, and we will say no more/' 

The goldsmith smiled. The business was 
growing more simple and more profitable. 
He had intended to offer fifty, but surely it 
would be sinful waste to give more than 
twenty-five ? 

" 1 shall scarce know what to do with them 
when I have them," said he. " Yet I should 
not grudge twenty nobles if it is a matter in 
which the King is concerned." 

Nigel's heart turned to lead. This sum 
would not buy one-half what was needful. It 
was clear that the Lady Ermyntrude had 
over-valued her treasures, Yet he could not 
return empty handed, so if twenty nobles was 
the real worth, as this good old man assured 
him, then he must be thankful and take it. 

11 1 am concerned 
by what you say," said 
he, " You know more 
of these things than I 
can do. However, I 

will take " 

"A hundred and 
fifty," whispered Ayl- 
ward's voice in his ear, 
"A hundred and 
fifty," said Nigel, only 
too relieved to have 
found the humblest 
guide upon these un- 
wonted paths. 

Thegoldsmith started. 
This youth was not the 
simple soldier that he 
had seemed. That 
frank face, those grey 
eyes were traps for the 
unwary. Never had he 
been more taken aback 
in a bargain. 

"This is fond talk 
and can lead to no- 
thing, fair sir," said he, 
turning away and 
fiddling with the keys of his strong-boxes. 
11 Yet I have no wish to be hard with* you. 
Take my outside price, which is fifty nobles." 
"And a hundred," whispered Aylward. 
" And a hundred," said Nigel, blushing at 
his own greed. 

" Well, well, take a hundred," cried the 
merchant. " Fleece me, skin me, leave me 
a loser, and take for your wares the full 

" I should be shamed for ever if I were to 
treat you so badly," said Nigel. " You have 
spoken me fair and I would not grind you 
down. Therefore I will gladly take one 

hundred " 

" And fifty," whispered Aylward. 
" And fifty," said Nigel 
" By St. John of Beverley ! " cried the 
merchant. " I came hither from the north 
country, and they are said to be shrewd at a 
deal in those parts, but I had rather bargain 
with a synagogue full of Jews than with you, 
for all your gentle ways. Will you, indeed, 
take no less than a hundred and fifty? 
Alas ! you pluck from me my profits of a 
month. It is a fell morning's work for me ! 
J would I had never seen you." With groans 
and lamentations he paid the gold pieces 
across the counter, and Nigel, hardly able to 
credit his owjn. good fortune, gathered them 
into the leat'li l ^ in iiaffli" 1 'bag. A moment 



later, with flushed face, he was in the 
street and pouring out his thanks to Aylward. 

"Alas ! my fair lord, the man has robbed 
us now," said the archer. " We could have 
had another twenty had we stood fast" 

11 How know you that, good Aylward ?" 

11 By his eyes, Squire Loring. I wot I have 
little store of reading where the parchment 
of a book or the pricking of a blazoned coat 
is concerned, but I can read men's eyes, and 
I never doubted that 
he would give what he 
has given." 

The two travellers 
had dinner at the 
monks' hospitium, 
Nigel at the high table 
and Aylward among 
the commonalty. Then 
again they roamed the 
High Street on busi- 
ness intent. Nigel 
bought taffeta for hang- 
ings, wine, preserves, 
fruit, damask table 
linen, and many other 
articles of need. At 
last he halted before 
the armourer's shop at 
the Castle Yard, star- 
ing at the fine suits of 
plate, the engraved 
pectorals, the plumed 
helmets, the cunningly- 
jointed gorgets, as a 
child at a sweet-shop. 

" Well, Squire Lor- 
ing," said Wat the 
armourer, looking side- 
ways from the furnace 
where he was temper- 
ing a sword - blade, 
" what can I sell you 
this morning? I swear 
to you by Tubal Cain, 
the father of all workers 
in metal, that you 
might go from end to 
end of Cheapside and 
never see a better suit 
than that which hangs 
from yonder hook." 

"And the price, armourer?" asked Nigel. 

" To anyone else, two hundred and fifty 
rose-nobles. To you, two hundred." 

4< And why cheaper to me, good fellow ? " 

" Because I fitted your father also for the 
wars, and a finer suit never went out of my 
shop. I warrant that it turned many an 

edge before he laid it aside. We worked in 
mail in those days, and I had as soon have 
a well-made, thick-meshed mail as any plates ; 
but a young knight will be in the fashion 
like any dame of the Court, and so it must be 
plate now, even though the price be trebled." 

" Your rede is that the mail is as good ? " 

" I am well sure of it." 

" Hearken, then, armourer. I cannot at 
this moment buy a suit of plate, and yet I 



sorely need steel harness on account of a 
small deed which it is in my mind to do. 
Now, I have, at my home at Tilford, that 
very suit of mail of which you speak, with 
which my father first rode to the wars. 
Could you not so alter it that it should 

guard my limbs also ? " . 
uricjinai tronn 




The armourer looked at Nigel's small, 
upright figure and burst out laughing. 

"You jest, Squire Loring ! The suit was 
made for one who was far above the common 
stature of man." 

"Nay, I jest not. If it will but carry me 
through one spear-running it will have served 
its purpose." 

The armourer leaned back on his anvil and 
pondered, while Nigel stared anxiously at his 
sooty face. 

" Right gladly would I lend you a suit of 
plate for this one venture, Squire Loring, but 
I know well that if you should be over- 
thrown your harness becomes prize to the 
victor. I am a poor man with many children, 
and I dare not risk the loss of it. But as to 
what you say of the old suit of mail, is it, 
indeed, in good condition ? n 

" Most excellent, save only at the neck, 
which is much frayed." 

"To shorten the limbs is easy. It is but 
to cut out a length of the mail and then loop 
up the links. But to shorten the body — nay, 
that is beyond the armourer's art," 

" It was my last hope. Nay, good 
armourer, if you have indeed served 
and loved my gallant 
father, then I beg you by 
his memory that you will 
help me now." 

The armourer threw 
down his heavy hammer 
with a crash upon the 
floor. " It is not only that 
I loved your father, Squire 
Loring, but it is that I 
have seen you, half armed 
as you were, ride against 
the best of them at the 
Castle tilt - yard. Last 
Martinmas my heart bled 
for you when I saw how 
sorry was your harness, and 
yet you held your own 
against thestout Sir Oliver, 
with his Milan suit. When 
go you to Tilford ? " 

" Even now." 

" Heh, Jenkin ! Fetch 
out the cob ! " cried the 
worthy Wat. " May my 
right hand lose its cunning if I do not send 
you into battle in your father's suit. To- 
morrow I must be back in my booth, but to- 
day I give to you without fee and for the sake 
of the goodwill which I bear to your house. 

I will ride with you to Tilford, and before 
night you shall see what Wat can do." 

So it came about that there was a busy 
evening at the old Tilford manor-house, 
where the Lady Ermyntrude planned and cut 
and hung the curtains for the hall, and 
stocked her cupboards with the good things 
which Nigel had brought from Guildford. 
Meanwhile the squire and the armourer sat 
with their heads touching, and the old suit 
of mail, with its gorget of overlapping plates, 
laid out across their knees. Again and again 
old Wat shrugged his shoulders, as one who 
has been asked to do more than can be 
demanded from mortal man. At last, at a 
suggestion from the squire, he leaned back 
in his chair and laughed long and loudly in 
his bushy beard, while the Lady Ermyn- 
trude glared her black displeasure at such 
plebeian merriment. Then, taking his fine 
chisel and his hammer from his pouch 
of tools, the armourer, still chuckling at 
his own thoughts, began to drive a hole 
through the centre of the steel tunic. 





(To be continued.) 


The King of Spain and His Palaces. 

By Mary Spencer Warren. 

Illustrated by Photographs especially taken for " The Strand Magazine" 

rthlHlH \u kill. 

■ -- ■» 





HE marriage of the King of 
Spain with one of our own 
Royal Princesses is an event 
which awakens a natural in- 
terest concerning the country 
and the capital in which she 
will pass her life. The palaces of Madrid, 
magnificent as they are, have for us at the 
present moment, as the home of the future 
Queen, an interest added to their own. 
The following article was written, and the 
photographs were taken by special per- 
mission, in order that our readers might be 
enabled to form the best possible idea of 
their impressive splendour. 

The chief palaces appertaining to the 
Spanish Court are two— the Royal Palace at 
Madrid and the Summer Palace, twenty-six 
miles away, known as the Escurial. 

The Royal Palace, in the west of the 
capital, is an enormous square pile, measuring 
four hundred and seventy feet each way, and 
attaining a height of one hundred feet, 
exclusive of the dome. It is built upon the 
site of the ancient Moorish Alcazar which 
.Enrique IV. made his residence. This was 
burned down, and Philip V. then determined 
to put up a building which should rival the 
famous palace at Versailles. 

The principal outer materials used are 
granite and white stone of Colmenar, which, 
when lit up by the rays of the sun, present a 
very dazzling appearance. On the front side 
is an open plaza, planted with trees and 
decorated with statues ; and on the garden 

Digitized by LiGOgiC 

side runs the River Manzanares, which is in 
reality an insignificant stream. Beyond are 
the woods of the Caso del Campo and the 
Steppes, bounded by the snowy tops of the 

The chief entrance to the palace is that on 
the south side, leading from a large square. 
From this entrance the grand staircase opens 
direct, a staircase particularly handsome in 
design, rich in appointments, and easy of 
ascent. The pure marble of the wide steps, with 
the crimson pile carpets, the sculptured marble 
statues, and glittering chandeliers all com- 
bined, make a wonderfully imposing approach 
to the State apartments at the summit. One 
of the principal statues is an equestrian one 
of Philip II. It is of gilded bronze. 

The palace is enormous. The most import- 
ant saloon of all, perhaps, is the Throne Room. 
This, as may be judged by the photo, on the 
next page, is of considerable magnitude, 
and superb in its decoration. The ceiling is 
by the celebrated artist Tiepolo. Some of 
the groups are mythological, and some are 
representative of the majesty of Spain in the 
different costumes of the provinces. The 
apartment is magnificently hung in crimson 
velvet and embellished with mirrors of 
enormous size, the plate glass having been 
.cast at San Ildefonso. These are encased 
in exquisitely-carved gold frames surmounted 
by antique figures. The pure crystal chan- 
deliers are particularly fine, as is also , the 
choice inlay of the flooring. Opposite the 
principal doorway stands the throne. This 





is surmounted by a 
carving, crimson velvet 
The dais is covered 
embellished with 
gold, and the 
chair is hand- 
somely carved 
and covered to 
match the can- 
opy. On the dais 
are four silver 
lions, two on the 
summit and one 
at either end of 
the steps. Pedes- 
tals on either 
side support life- 
sized statues of 
Moors, others 
occupying vari- 
ous positions in 
the room. Here 
the monarehs re- 
ceive foreign Am- 
bassadors and 
others on great 
occasions, and 
here they lie in 
state at their 

A large number 
of reception- 
rooms, State 
drawing - rooms, 

rich canopy of gold 

, and gold embroidery. 

with crimson velvet 


and ball-rooms open from the throne-room, 
each of them fitted and decorated in the most 
princely style. Perhaps in no palace is there 

such a multipli- 
city of exquisitely 
painted ceilings. 
One which is par- 
ticularly notice- 
able is that of 
"The Apotheosis 
of Trajan and 
Aurora." As one 
passes through 
suite after suite, 
each apartment 
seems to outvie 
its predecessor, 
until the eye be- 
comes dazzled 
with splendour. 

An interesting 
room, though 
small, is the Por- 
celain Cabinet. 
Madrid boasts 
some fine porce- 
lain works, the 
head-quarters of 
which were origi- 
nally at Naples. 
Charles III. 
seems to have 
transferred them 
to this capital, 





and ihU smal cabinet in the palace contains 
rome of the very finest specimens, which are 
known as ihe Cap > di Monte ware; these 
being arranged with very fine effect on the 
white walls of the room. 

The palace abounds with some of the very 
finest paintings extant, three of the most 
valuable, perhaps, being the following : "Th 
Adoration of the Magi/' by Rubens; "Christ 
Bearing the Cross," by Raphael ; and u Venus 
Binding the Eyes of Cupid," by Titian. But 
ihe apartments are literally crowded with the 
rarest and most valuable of the productions 
of the great masters. The Princes' Saloon is 
comparatively plain, having what is almost an 
exception in the palace— a plain ceiling. 

The drawing-room of Carlos III. is highly 


picturesque and rich in detail. Its ceiling 
has the finest of frescoes, and the most 
delicate of ornamentation in gold relief. The 
walls are beautifully decorated in cream and 
gold ; the carpet is of rich tapestry ; the 

Digitized by t_T* 

chairs have artistically - carved frames and 
upholstery to match the walls ; the massive 
plate mirrors have a setting of finely-carved 
gold relief, and are faced by marble-topped 
tables which carry costly candelabra and 
priceless porcelain. 

The " Sala de los Espejos " is one of a fine 
suite of reception-rooms, lavishly decorated. 
The mural reliefs are especially good, as are 
the frescoes of the ceiling. Mirrors and 
paintings have settings of gold beading, and 
are interspersed with a beautiful ornamenta- 
tion, chiefly of birds and tree life. The 
hangings of the doors and windows are 
exceedingly rich in appearance, and depend 
from carved gold supports with semi- 
canopied centres. Some antique china may 
be seen on the side-tables, 
as well as in the form of 
immense corner vases. A 
very good view is here ob- 
tained right through a con- 
tinuous suite of correspond- 
ing size and elegance. 

The private chapel is 
easily accessible from the 
State apartments. It is of 
the Corinthian order, and 
formerly contained some 
fine pictures specially 
painted for Philip II. by 
Michael Coxis, but in 1808 
tnese were carried off by 
General Halliard and sent 
to Brussels to be sold. 
The ceiling was painted 
by Giaquinto. 

The Royal library con- 
tains about one hundred 
thousand volumes, and in 
another part may be seen a 
large collection of coins 
and medals, the majority 
of which are very antique. 

One curious custom at 
the palace must here be 
mentioned — the night 
watch of the Monteros de 
Espinosa. This is exclu- 
sively enjoyed by the in- 
habitants of the little village 
of Espinosa. Every night 
at the exact stroke of eleven 
the palace gates are closed 
by an official in brilliant livery, who carries a 
large bunch of keys and a lantern, and who 
is accompanied by officers, soldiers, and 
servants. The interior of the palace is 
then under the guardianship of the Monteros 



l 5° 


de Espinosa, and remains so until six in the 
morning, when the gates are unclosed in the 
same ceremonious manner. The origin of 
this custom, which goes back many centuries, 
is lost in obscurity. 

Taking train at Madrid to a station nearly 
thirty miles away, one alights in somewhat 
near proximity to the Sierra de Guadarrama, 
where is the Summer Palace of the Escurial, 
or, to give it its correct name, " El Real Sitio 
de San Lorenzo el Real del Escorial." This 
is a wonderfully imposing building, of 
enormous size and peculiar construction, and 
of a dark, gloomy, and formidable appear- 
ance. It owes its construction to Philip II., 

supported on pillars. It was therefore presently 
given out, and by many believed, that St. 
Lawrence himself solved the difficulty by a 
direct message that, should the gridiron be 
inverted, it would not offend him. Accordingly 
this plan was carried out, and the four corner 
towers represent the feet in the air, and a 
long, out-stretching building in the centre of 
one side takes the form of the handle. It is 
composed chiefly of granite, blue-slate, and 
lead. It is of the Doric order, with its 
interior divided into courts, to represent the 
bars of the gridiron. I may say that the 
handle forms the Royal residence. 

As the palace is situated two thousand 


his ostensible object being to carry out the 
wishes of his father for the erection of a 
Royal tomb. The foundation-stone was laid 
in 1563 ; it stands as a lasting monument to 
its builder, who was wjthout doubt the most 
persecuting bigot since the time of Nero. 

The building was to serve as a palace, a 
treasury, a tomb-house, and a museum, and 
was dedicated to St. Lawrence, who had 
been a treasurer in the Church of Rome in 
the third century, and who had been martyred 
by roasting on a gridiron. Philip, in rearing 
this edifice, was desirous that it should take 
gridiron form, but, on account of the 
enormous size required, much difficulty was 
experienced, as so great a weight could not be 

seven hundred feet above the level of the 
sea, it is in anything but warm quarters. To 
give some idea of its enormous size, it may 
be stated that in it are no fewer than eleven 
thousand windows. There are some fine 
views to be obtained from its terraces, but 
the outside surroundings are very bare, for 
trees and verdure are scarce, the greater part 
of what one sees consisting of stone, rock, and 
barren sand. Philip planted some of the 
slopes with elms taken from England, and 
made an attempt to introduce gardens and 
fish-ponds, but he was only partly successful 
in relieving the pervading barrenness. 

The grand central Ionic and Doric portal 
is never opeW^H&rcdpiPnfb admit a Royal 





living personage, or his remains when carried 
thither for burial in the Pantheon below. 
Immediately on entering one's attention is 
called to some remarkable statues of the 
Kings of Judah ; these are of the great 
height of seventeen feet, each one having 
been cut out of a single granite block. 

The Royal apartments are not furnished 
in any very extraordinary manner, although 
some of them have some very fine Spanish 
tapestry, some good 
paintings, and valu- 
able old china. 
The Ambassadors' 
Saloon — of which 
a photograph is 
here introduced— 
is a very good 
specimen of the 
whole. Here you 
twill notice the great 
beauty of detail of 
the tapestry, much 
of it being descrip- 
tive of the hunt 
The ceiling — as 
are the majority — 
is frescoed in 
panels ; from the 
centre depend an- 
tique crystal cande- 
labra. Included 
amongst some of 
the best works of 
the masters which 

are to be seen are examples of Titian, 
Tintoretto, Bassano, and Velazquez. 

The chamber in which Philip II. died is 
interesting, but at the same time cannot fail 
to cause a certain amount of repulsion when 
one thinks of the bitter persecution which he 
waged during his lifetime and his horrible 
death on this spot. Very little is to be seen 
here with the exception of the plain chairs 
and tables necessary for use, and the rest 


(~* rt^n 1 "■ Original from 


[ 52 



of Philip's apartments are just as severe in 
their simplicity, for it is well known that 
although from this spot he 
governed, yet he at the same 
time lived more as a monk 
than a monarch, the main 
purpose of his life seeming 
to be the extermination of 
Protestantism — the Spanish 
Armada which he sent 
against England, with evil 
result, being part and parcel 
of his plans. Here, in the 
Escurial, he erected over 
forty altars for the further- 
ance and protection of the 
dogma of the Roman 

As a monastery the Escu- 
rial has not been used for 
many years, for the revenues 
have disappeared, but as a 
burying -place custom still 
holds its own, for thither the 
departed monarch s are still 
conveyed for entombment 
in the Pantheon below the 
church. The bodies are 
taken thither in slow and 
solemn procession, certain 
resting-places being ap- 
pointed on the journey, and 
it is a part of the ceremony 
observed that each morn- 
ing, before resuming the 
route, an officer of State 
shall approach the coffin 

will be graciously 
- pleased to move 

Before descend- 
ing into the Pan- 
theon we will look 
round the wonder- 
ful church, which 
of its kind is 
second to none. 
It is three hun- 
dred and twenty 
feet in length 
and very lofty, 
with a width of 
two hundred and 
thirty feet, and it 
is beyond dispute 
that the secret of 
the grandeur is 
in the conception 
and proportion. The vaulted roof is divided 
into eight compartnients, each one painted 

and inquire if His Majesty 






in frescoes ; the choir shows some exquisite 
carving of walls and stalls, seven sorts of the 
choicest woods of the country being used. 

In the choir may still be seen the seat for- 
merly occupied by Philip II. This monkish 
King was a famous relic collector, many of 
which were kept in the transept. It is said 
that at one time he had no fewer than five 
hundred and fifteen shrines for these articles, 
but they seem to have been at a later period 
scattered right and left and the precious 
metals of the shrines stolen, together with 
over one hundred sacred vessels of silver and 
gold, many of which were also jewelled. A 
silver full-length statue of " San Lorenzo n 

of life-sized statues. No one on entering would 
imagine himself in a sepulchre. The glitter 
of the precious metals and the colours of the 
variegated marbles, the staircase lined with 
yellow and green jasper, all combine to pro- 
duce an effect which is anything but funereal. 
The Pantheon itself is octagonal in shape, 
with a measurement of thirty-six feet in 
diameter and thirty-eight in height ; the 
walls are entirely faced with dark polished 
marbles and gilded bronze. In the eight 
sides are twenty-six niches, within them 
being the black marble sarcophagi contain- 
ing the illustrious dead. They lie in long, 
regular rows, shelved one above another. 


also vanished about the same time ; this is 
said to have weighed no less than four and a 
half hundredweight. The pillage altogether 
filled no fewer than fourteen carts, which 
were sent away to Madrid. 

The entrance to the Pantheon is from the 
south transept door ; it is immediately under 
the chapel, with the Royal vault under the 
high altar, in order that when the Host is 
elevated it may be raised immediately above 
the Royal dead. The entrance is by means 
of a long flight of granite steps ; then one 
passes through a series of corridors lined 
with jasper and choice marbles, and faced on 
either side with sculptured columnsand aseries 

The Kings and Queens are divided, the 
former lying on one side, the latter on the 
other, with the names of the deceased 
written on each urn. A grim feature is the 
series of empty sarcophagi awaiting future 
occupants. I may mention that none are 
buried here save Kings, reigning Queens, and 
the mothers of Kings. The Pantheon really 
seems to surpass any other part of the 
Escurial for display of gorgeous adornments 
and for actual intrinsic worth of material 
used in decorations ; but it is a relief to 
come outside into the broad sunshine, and 
to turn one's back altogether on the Escurial, 
with its gloomy aspect and grim associations. 





[R. POTTER had just taken 
Ethel Spriggs into the kitchen 
to say good-bye ; in the small 
front room Mr. Spriggs, with 
his fingers already fumbling at 
the linen collar of ceremony, 
waited impatiently. 

"They get longer and longer over their 
good-byes," he complained. 

" It's only natural," said Mrs. Spriggs, look- 
ing up from a piece of fine sewing. " Don't 

you remember " 

"No, I don't," said her husband, doggedly. 
11 1 know that your pore father never 'ad to 
put on a collar forme ; and, mind you, I won't 
wear one after they're married, not if you 
all went on your bended knees and asked 
me to." 

He composed his face as the door opened, 
and nodded good night to the rather over- 
dressed young man who came through the 
room with his daughter. The latter opened 
the front -door and, passing out with Mr. 
Potter, held it slightly open. A penetrating 
draught played upon the exasperated Mr, 
Spriggs. He coughed loudly. 

Copyright, in United Stal 

" Your father's got a cold," said Mr, Potter, 
in a concerned voice. 

11 No ; it's only too much smoking," said 
the girl. " He's smoking all day long." 

The indignant Mr. Spriggs coughed again ; 
but the young people had found a new 
subject of conversation. It ended some 
minutes later in a playful scuffle, during which 
the door acted the part of a ventilating fan. 

" It's only for another fortnight," said Mrs. 
Spriggs, hastily, as her husband rose. 

"After they're spliced," said the vindictive 
Mr. Spriggs, resuming his seat, " I'll go round 
and I'll play about with their front-door 
till " 

He broke off abruptly as his daughter, 
darting into the room, closed the door with a 
bang that nearly extinguished the lamp, and 
turned the key. Before her flushed and 
laughing face Mr. Spriggs held his peace. 

"What's the matter?" she asked, eyeing 
him. " What are you looking like that for ?" 

"Too much draught — for your mother," 
said Mr. Spriggs, feebly. " I'm afraid of her 
asthma agin," 

He fell to work on| fftft-ff ollar once more, 

America, hy Utfft 0fflTY'0F MICHIGAN 



and, escaping at last from the clutches of that 
enemy, laid it on the table and unlaced his 
boots. An attempt to remove his coat was 
promptly frustrated by his daughter. 

" You'll get doing it when you come round 
to see us," she explained. 

Mr. Spriggs sighed, and lighting a short 
clay pipe — forbidden in the presence of his 
future son-in-law — fell to watching mother 
and daughter as they gloated over dress 
materials and discussed double-widths. 

"Anybody who can't be 'appy with her," 
he said, half an hour later, as his daughter 
slapped his head by way of bidding him 
good night, and retired, " don't deserve to be 

" I wish it was over," whispered his wife. 
"She'll break her heart if anything happens, 
and — and Gussie will be out now in a day or 

"A gal can't 'elp what her uncle does," 
said Mr. Spriggs, fiercely; "if Alfred throws 
her over for that, he's no man." 

"Pride is his great fault," said his wife, 

"It's no good taking up troubles afore 
they come," observed Mr. Spriggs. " PYaps 
Gussie won't come 'ere." 

" He'll come straight here," said his wife, 
with conviction; "he'll come straight here 
and try and make a fuss of me, same as he 
used to do when we was children and I'd got 
a ha'penny. I know him." 

" Cheer up, old gal," said Mr. Spriggs ; " if 
he does, we must try and get rid of 'im ; 
and, if he won't go, we must tell Alfred that 
he's been to Australia, same as we did 

His wife smiled 

"That's the 
ticket," continued 
Mr. Spriggs. " For 
one thing, I b'leeve 
he'll be ashamed to 
show his face here ; 
but, if he does, he's 
come back from 
Australia. See? 
It'll make it nicer 
for 'im too. You 
don't suppose he 
wants to boast of 
where he's been ? " 

" And suppose he 
comes while Alfred 
is here?" said his 

"Then I say, 

1 How 'ave you left 'em all in Australia ? ' and 
wink at him," said the ready Mr. Spriggs. 

" And s'pose you're not here ? " objected 
his wife. 

" Then you say it and wink at him," was 
the reply. " No ; I know you can't," he 
added, hastily, as Mri. Spriggs raised another 
objection ; " you've been too well brought 
up. Still, you can try." 

It was a slight comfort to Mrs. Spriggs 
that Mr. Augustus Price did, after all, choose 
a convenient time for his reappearance. A 
faint knock sounded on the door two days 
afterwards as she sat at tea with her husband, 
and an anxious face with somewhat furtive 
eyes was thrust into the room. 

" Emma ! " said a mournful voice, as the 
upper part of the intruder's body followed 
the face. 

"Gussie!" said Mrs. Spriggs, rising in 

Mr. Price drew his legs into the room, and, 
closing the door with extraordinary care, 
passed the cuff of his coat across his eyes and 
surveyed them tenderly. 

" I've come home to die," he said, slowly,' 
and, tottering across the room, embraced his 
sister with much unction. 

" What are you going to die of? " inquired 
Mr. Spriggs, reluctantly accepting the ex- 
tended hand. 

" Broken 'art, George," replied his brother- 
in-law, sinking into a chair. 


"an anxious facb wj© FttJPFffi fif^TA* Room." 




Mr. Spriggs grunted, and, moving his 
chair a little farther away, watched the in- 
truder as his wife, handed him a plate. A 
troubled glance from his wife reminded him 
of their arrangements for the occasion, and 
he cleared his throat several times in vain 
attempts to begin. 

" I'm sorry that we can't ask you to stay 
with us, Gussie, 'specially as you're so ill," he 
said, at last ; " but pYaps you'll be better 
after picking a bit." 

Mr. Price, who was about to take a slice 
of bread and butter, refrained, and, closing 
his eyes, uttered a faint moan. "I sha'n't 
last the night," he muttered. 

" That's just it," said Mr. Spriggs, eagerly. 
11 You see, Ethel is going to be married in a 
fortnight, and if you died here that would 
put it off." 

"I might last longer if I was took care 
of," said the other, opening his eyes. 

" And, besides, Ethel don't know where 
you've been," continued Mr. Spriggs. " We 
told 'er that you had gone to Australia. 
She's going to marry a very partikler young 
chap — a grocer — and if he found it out it 
might be awk'ard." 

Mr. Price closed his eyes again, but the 
lids quivered. 

"It took 'im some time to get over me 
being a bricklayer," pursued Mr. Spriggs. 
"What he'd say to you " 

" Tell 'im I've come back from Australia, 
if you like," said Mr. Price, faintly. "I 
don't mind." 

Mr. Spriggs cleared his throat again. 
"But, you see, we told Ethel as you was 
doing well out there," he said, with an 
embarrassed laugh, " and girl-like, and Alfred 
talking a good deal about his relations, she — 
she's made the most of it." 

"It don't matter," said the complaisant 
Mr. Price ; " you say what you like. I 
sha'n't interfere with you." 

"But, you see, you don't look as 
though you've been making money," said 
his sister, impatiently. "Look at your 

Mr. Price held up his hand. " That's easy 
got over," he remarked ; "while I'm having 
a bit of tea George can go out and buy me 
some new ones. You get what you think I 
should look richest in, George — a black tail- 
coat would be best, I should think, but I 
leave it to you. A bit of a fancy waistcoat, 
pYaps, lightish trousers, and a pair o* nice 
boots, easy sevens." 

He sat upright in his chair and, ignoring 
the look of consternation that passed between 

Digitized by C*OOQ IC 

husband and wife, poured himself out a cup 
of tea and took a slice of cake. 

"Have you got any money?" said Mr. 
Spriggs, after a long pause. 

"I left it behind me — in Australia," said 
Mr. Price, with ill-timed facetiousness. 

"Getting better, ain't you?" said his 
brother-in-law, sharply. " How's that broken 
'art getting on ? " 

" It'll go all right under a fancy waistcoat," 
was the reply; "and while you're about it, 
George, you'd better get me a scarf-pin, and, 
if you could run to a gold watch and 
chain " 

He was interrupted by a frenzied outburst 
from Mr. Spriggs ; a somewhat incoherent 
summary of Mr. Price's past, coupled with 
unlawful and heathenish hopes for his 

"You're wasting time," said Mr. Price, 
calmly, as he paused for breath. " Don't get 
'em if you don't want to. I'm trying to help 
you, that's all. I don't mind anybody know- 
ing where I've been. I was innercent. If 
you will give way to sinful pride you must 
pay for it." 

Mr. Spriggs, by a great effort, regained his 
self-control. " Will you go away if I give you 
a quid ? " he asked, quietly. 

" No," said Mr. Price, with a placid smile. 
" I've got a better idea of the value of money 
than that. Besides, I want to see my dear 
niece, and see whether that young man's 
good enough for her." 

"Two quid?" suggested his brother-in- 

Mr. Price shook his head. " I couldn't do 
it," he said, calmly. " In justice to myself I 
couldn't do it. You'll be feeling lonely when 
you lose Ethel, and I'll stay and keep you 

The bricklayer nearly broke out again ; 
but, obeying a glance from his wife, closed 
his lips and followed her obediently upstairs. 
Mr. Price, filling his pipe from a paper of 
tobacco on the mantelpiece, winked at him- 
self encouragingly in the glass, and smiled 
gently as he heard the chinking of coins 

" Be careful about the size," he said, as 
Mr. Spriggs came down and took his hat 
from a nail ; " about a couple of inches shorter 
than yourself and not near so much round 
the waist." 

Mr. Spriggs regarded him sternly for a 
few seconds, and then, closing the door with 
a bang, went off down the street. Left alone, 
Mr. Price strolled about the room inves- 
tigating, and then, drawing an easy-chair up 




to the fire, put his feet on the fender and 
relapsed into thought. 

Two hours later he sat in the same 
place, a changed and resplendent being. His 
thin legs were hidden in light check trousers, 
and the companion waistcoat to Joseph's 
coat graced the upper part of his body. A 
large chrysanthemum in the button-hole of 
his frock-coat completed the picture of an 
Australian millionaire, as understood by Mr. 

" A nice watch and chain, and a little 
money in my pockets, and I shall be all 
right," murmured Mr. Price. 

" You won't get any more out o* me," said 

head back and blew smoke to the ceiling. 
He was in the same easy position when Ethel 
arrived home accompanied by Mr. Potter. 

" It's — it's your Uncle Gussie," said Mrs. 
Spriggs, as the girl stood eyeing the visitor. 

" From Australia," said her husband, 

Mr. Price smiled, and his niece, noticing 
that he removed his pipe and wiped his lips 
with the back of his hand, crossed over and 
kissed his eyebrow. Mr. Potter was then 
introduced and received a gracious reception, 
Mr. Price commenting on the extraordinary 
likeness he bore to a young friend of his who 
had just come in for forty thousand a year. 


Mr. Spriggs, fiercely. " I've spent every 
farthing I've got." 

u Except what's in the bank," said his 
brother-in-law. " It'll take you a day or two 
to get at it, I know. S'pose we say Saturday 
for the watch and chain ? " 

Mr. Spriggs looked helplessly at his wife, 
but she avoided his gaze. He turned and 
gazed in a fascinated fashion at Mr. Price, 
and received a cheerful nod in return. 

" I'll come with you and help choose it," 
said the latter. " It'll save you trouble if it 
don't save your pocket." 

He thrust his hands in his trouser-pockets 
and, spreading his legs wide apart, tilted his 

Digitized h/t^CK 

11 That's nearly as much as you're worth, 
uncle, isn't it ? " inquired Miss Spriggs, 

Mr. Price shook his head at her and 
pondered. " Rather more," he said, at last, 
"rather more." 

Mr. Potter caught his breath sharply ; 
Mr. Spriggs, who was stooping to get a light 
for his pipe, nearly fell into the fire. There 
was an impressive silence. 

" Money isn't everything," said Mr. Price, 
looking round and shaking his head. u It's 
not much good, except to give away." 

His eye roved round the room and came to 
a rest finally upon.. Mr. Potter. The young 




man noticed with a thrill that it beamed 
with benevolence. 

"Fancy coming over without saying a 
word to anybody, and taking us all by surprise 
like this ! " said Ethel. 
. u I felt I must see you all once more before 
I died," said her uncle, simply. " Just a 
flying visit I meant it to be, but your father 
and mother won't hear of my going back just 

"Of course not," said Ethel, who was 
helping the silent Mrs. Spriggs to lay supper. 

u When I talked of going your father 'eld 
me down in my 
chair," continued the 
veracious Mr. Price. 

"Quite right, too," 
said the girl. " Now 
draw your chair up 
and have some 
supper, and tell us all 
about Australia." 

Mr. Price drew his 
chair up, but, as to 
talking about Austra- 
lia, he said ungrate- 
fully that he was sick 
of the name of the 
place, and preferred 
instead to discuss the 
past and future of 
Mr. Potter. He 
learned, among other 
things, that that 
gentleman was of a 
careful and thrifty 
disposition, and that 
his savings, aug- 
mented by a lucky 
legacy, amounted to 
a hundred and ten 

" Alfred is going 
to stay with Palmer 




take a 

for another 
business of 

then we shall 
our own," said Ethel. 

" Quite right," said Mr. Price, meaningly. 
" 1 like to see young people make their own 
way. It's good for 'em," 

It was plain to all that he had taken a 
great fancy to Mr. Potter. He discussed 
the grocery trade with the air of a rich man 
seeking a good investment, and threw out 
dark hints about returning to England after 
a final visit to Australia and settling down in 
the bosom of his family. He accepted a cigar 
from Mr. Potter after supper, and, when the 
young man left — at an unusually late hour — 
walked home with him. 


It was the first of several pleasant evenings, 
and Mr. Price, who had bought a book deal- 
ing with Australia from a second-hand book- 
stall, no longer denied them an account of 
his adventures there. A gold watch and 
chain, which had made a serious hole in his 
brother-in-law's Savings Bank account, lent an 
air of substance to his waistcoat, and a pin of 
excellent paste sparkled in his neck-tie. 
Under the influence of good food and home 
comforts he improved every day, and the 
unfortunate Mr. Spriggs was at his wits' end 
to resist further encroachments. From the 

second day of their 
acquaintance he 
called Mr. Potter 
" Alf," and the young 
people listened with 
great attention to 
his discourse on 
11 Money : How to 
Make It and How 
to Keep It." 

His own dealings 
with Mr. Spriggs 
afforded an example 
which he did not 
quote. Beginning 
with shillings, he led 
up to half-crowns, 
and, encouraged by 
success, one after- 
noon boldly de- 
manded a half- 
sovereign to buy a 
wedding-present with. 
Mrs. Spriggs drew 
her overwrought hus- 
band into the kitchen 
and argued with him 
in whispers. 

" Give him what 
he wants till they're 
married," she entreated ; " after that Alfred 
can't help himself, and it'll be as much to his 
interest to keep quiet as anybody else." 

Mr. Spriggs, who had been a careful man 
all his life, found the half-sovereign and a 
few new names, which he bestowed upon Mr 
Price at the same time. The latter listened 
unmoved. In fact, a bright eye and a 
pleasant smile seemed to indicate that he 
regarded them rather in the nature of com- 
pliments than otherwise. 

11 1 telegraphed over to Australia this 
morning," he said, as they all sat at supper 
that evening. 

" About my money ? " said Mr. Potter, 





Mr. Price frowned at him swiftly. " No ; 
telling my head clerk to send over a wedding- 
present for you," he said, his face softening 
under the eye of Mr. Spriggs. " I've got 
just the thing for you there. I can't see any- 
thing good enough over here." 

The young couple were warm in their 

" What did you mean, about your 
money?" inquired Mr. Spriggs, turning to 
his future son-in-law. 

11 Nothing," said the young man, evasively. 

" It's a secret," said Mr. Price. 

"What about?" persisted Mr. Spriggs, 
raising his voice. 

" It's a little private business between me 
and Uncle Gussie," said Mr. Potter, some- 
what stiffly. 

" You — you haven't been lending him 
money?" stammered the bricklayer. 

" Don't be silly, father," said Miss Spriggs, 
sharply. "What good would Alfred's little 
bit o' money be to Uncle Gussie ? If you 
must know, Alfred is drawing it out for 
uncle to invest it for him." 

The eyes of Mr. and Mrs. Spriggs and 
Mr. Price engaged in a triangular duel. 
The latter spoke first. 

" I'm putting it into my business for him," 
he said, with a threatening glance, " in 

"And he didn't want his generosity known," 
added Mr. Potter. 

The bewildered Mr. Spriggs looked help- 
lessly round the table. His wife's foot pressed 
his, and like a mechanical toy his lips snapped 

" I didn't know you had got your money 
handy," said Mrs. Spriggs, in trembling tones. 

" 1 made special application, and I'm to 
have it on Friday," said Mr. Potter, with a 
smile. "You don't get a chance like that 
every day." 

He filled Uncle Gussie's glass for him, and 
that gentleman at once raised it and pro- 
posed the health of the young couple. " If 
anything was to 'appen to break it off now," 
he said, with a swift glance at his sister, 
"they'd be miserable for life, I can see that." 

" Miserable for ever," assented Mr. Potter, 
in a sepulchral voice, as he squeezed the 
hand of Miss Spriggs under the table. 

" It's the only thing worth 'aving — love," 
continued Mr. Price, watching his brother- 
in-law out of the corner of his eye. " Money 
is nothing." 

Mr. Spriggs emptied his glass and, knit- 
ting his brows, drew patterns on the cloth 
with the back of his knife. His wife's foot 

Digitized by b OOg 1 C 

was still pressing on his, and he waited for 

For once, however, Mrs. Spriggs had 
none to give. Even when Mr. Potter had 
gone and Ethel had retired upstairs she was 
still voiceless. She sat for some time looking 
at the fire and stealing an occasional glance 
at Uncle Gussie as he smoked a cigar ; then 
she arose and bent over her husband. 

" Do what you think best," she said, in a 
weary voice. " Good night." 

" What about that money of young 
Alfred's ? " demanded Mr. Spriggs, as the 
door closed behind her. 

" I'm going to put it in my business," said 
Uncle Gussie, blandly ; " my business in 

" Ho ! You've got to talk to me about that 
first," said the other. 

His brother - in - law leaned back and 
smoked with placid enjoyment. " You do 
what you like," he said, easily. " Of course, 
if you tell Alfred, I sha'n't get the money, 
and Ethel won't get 'im. Besides that, he'll 
find out what lies you've been telling." 

" I wonder you can look me in the face," 
said the raging bricklayer. 

" And I should give him to understand 
that you were going shares in the hundred 
and ten pounds and then thought better of 
it," said the unmoved Mr. Price. " He's the 
sort o' young chap as'll believe anything. 
Bless 'im ! " 

Mr. Spriggs bounced up from his chair and 
stood over him with his fists clenched. Mr. 
Price glared defiance. 

" If you're so partikler you can make it 
up to him," he said, slowly. " You've been 
a saving man, I know, and Emma 'ad a bit 
left her that I ought to have 'ad. When you've 
done play-acting I'll go to bed. So long ! " 

He got up, yawning, and walked to the 
door, and Mr. Spriggs, after a momentary 
idea of breaking him in pieces and throwing 
him out into the street, blew out the lamp 
and went upstairs to discuss the matter with 
his wife until morning. 

Mr. Spriggs left for his work next day with 
the question still undecided, but a pretty 
strong conviction that Mr. Price would have 
to have his way. The wedding was only five 
days off, and the house was in a bustle of 
preparation. A certain gloom which he 
could not shake off he attributed to a raging 
toothache, turning a deaf ear to the various 
remedies suggested by Uncle Gussie, and 
the name of an excellent dentist who had 
broken a tooth of Mr. Potter's three times 
before extr^.cting^|tf r Q rn 




Uncle Gussie he treated with bare civility 
in public, and to blood-curdling threats in 
private, Mr. Price, ascribing the latter to the 
toothache, also varied his treatment to his* 
company ; prescribing whisky held in the 
mouth, and other agreeable remedies, when 
there were listeners, and recommending him 
to fill his mouth with cold water and sit on 
the fire till it boiled, when they were alone. 

He was at his worst on Thursday morn- 
ing ; on Thursday afternoon he came home 
a bright and contented man. He hung his 
cap on the nail with a flourish, kissed his wife, 
and, in full view of the disapproving Mr. 
Price, executed a few clumsy steps on the 

" Come in for a fortune ? " inquired the 
latter, eyeing him sourly. 

" No ; I've saved one," replied Mr. Spriggs, 
gaily. " I wonder I didn't think of it myself." 

" Think of what ? " inquired Mr. Price. 

" You'll soon know," said Mr. Spriggs, 
"and you've only got yourself to thank for it," 

Uncle Gussie sniffed suspiciously ; Mrs. 
Spriggs pressed for particulars. 

" I've got out of the difficulty," said her 
husband, draw- 

ing his chair to 
the tea-table. 
suffer but Gus- 

"Ho!" said 
that gentleman, 

" I took the 
day off," said 
Mr. Spriggs, 
smiling conten- 
tedly at his wife, 
" and went to 
see a friend of 
mine, Bill 
White the 
policeman, and 
told him about 


Mr, Price stiffened in his chair. 
" Acting — under — his — advice," said Mr. 
Spriggs, sipping his tea, " I wrote to Scotland 
Yard and told 'em that Augustus Price, 
ticket-of-leave man, was trying to obtain a 
hundred and ten pounds by false pre- 

Mr. Price, white and breathless, rose and 
confronted him, 

" The beauty o' that is, as Bill says," con- 
tinued Mr. Spriggs, with much enjoyment, 
" that Gussie'll 'ave to set out on his travels 
again. He'll have to go into hiding, because 
if they catch him he'll 'ave to finish his time. 
And Bill says if he writes letters to any of us 
it'll only make it easier to find him. You'd 
better take the first train to Australia, 

"What — what time did you post — -the 
letter ? " inquired Uncle Gussie, jerkily. 

" 'Bout two o'clock," said Mr. Spriggs, 
glaring at the clock. " I reckon you've just 
got time." 

Mr, Price stepped swiftly to the small side- 
board, and, taking up his hat, clapped it on. 
He paused a moment at the door to glance 

up and down the 
street, and then the 
door closed softly 
behind him. Mrs. 
Spriggs looked at her 

" Called away to 
Australia by 
special tele- 
gram," said the 
latter, winking. 
"Bill White is a 
trump; that's 
what he is." 

"Oh, George!" 
said his wife. 
" Did you really 
write that let- 

Mr. Spriggs 
winked again. 


by Google 

Original from 


HE facetious turn of mind so 
frequently met with among 
human beings has something 
very analogous in certain 
animals, and often even 
assumes a character that the 
most inveterate jester would not disdain. 
Animals frequently have recourse to joking 
—generally rough, practical joking— either 
to be revenged or to obtain some definite 

I propose to quote several characteristic 
examples which may call attention to facts 
hitherto deemed unimportant, yet which 
are full of interest to those who make a study 
of the intelligence of animals. 

The German naturalist, Brehm, relates an 
instance of a female baboon which he brought 
to Europe, and which was never more 
delighted than when it could annoy a 
taciturn watch-dog. The latter had 
hardly settled himself comfortably for 
his daily siesta in the yard and closed 
his eyes before the baboon would 
stealthily approach. After ascertain- 
ing that the dog was asleep, she 
would lightly catch hold of his tail 
and give it a vicious tug, well calcu- 
lated to give the slumbering animal 
a rude awakening. Barking furiously, 
the dog would be on his feet in an 
instant and make for the baboon, 

ed by Google 

By Henri Coupin. 

but his tormentor always coolly and adroitly 
evaded all his efforts to come near her. 
She would sit quietly as if inviting him to 
approach, and then, at the right moment, 
leap over his head, and from behind give 
the persecuted tail another tug. 

A Siamese monkey, brought to Europe by 
Bennett, was still more facetious. On the 
same steamer with it were several other 
monkeys who, whatever their reason, would 
have nothing to do with the one in ques- 
tion. This ostracism clearly exasperated the 
Siamese monkey, and whenever it had a 
chance it would lay hold of one of the 
others, getting its tail in a vigorous grip, and 
in this manner drag it all about the deck, 
finally mounting the rigging with its victim 
and then dropping it down. 

Vol. XX \i. 21 





In the instance just given the spirit of 
teasing is evidently merged into that of 
malice, and in the following example this is 
even more obvious, although there is still 
a humorous element present. A monkey 
was attached by a ring, sufficiently large to 

pounced upon the feathered thief, and pinned 
it to the earth. Its next step was to deli- 
berately pluck the feathers from its victim 
until the wretched bird was almost bare. 


permit of its sliding up and down, to a 
bamboo pole fixed upright in the ground. 
The animal's favourite position was at the 
very top of the pole, and often when there 
crows from the surrounding neighbourhood 
flocked round the food, which was kept in a 
dish at the bottom, and frequently devoured 
a great portion of it. One morning the 
captive seemed particularly angry at the 
conduct of the crows, and, to be revenged, 
the following was the crafty scheme it 
resorted to. It pretended to be very unwell, 
kept its eyes half-closed, and drooped its 
head as if it had not sufficient strength to 
raise it. Thus the impostor remained until 
the fresh supply of food had been put 
in its usual place. The crows at once flew 
down and gobbled up every morsel. Very 
slowly the monkey now crawled down the pole, 
as if with the greatest difficulty, and, when it 
reached the bottom, it rolled over and over 
on the ground, uttering groans and apparently 
writhing in pain, but always, by degrees, 
coming nearer and nearer to the dish. When 
quite close it seemed to entirely collapse, and 
remained as rigid as if dead. Some time 
elapsed, and then a crow drew near to see if 
anything was left in the dish. No sooner 
had the bird come within reach of the 
monkey than the latter suddenly revived, 

Digitized by LiOOQ IC 

Then it threw the body contemptuously aside- 
The other crows soon assembled and pecked 
their comrade to death, never afterwards 

Of the spirit of facetiousness among 
monkeys, Darwin has spoken a great deal. 
Notably does he mention a female orang- 
outang which he had observed for a long 
time in the Zoological Gardens, and in which, 
he is confident, he noticed an -appreciation 
of the comical. On one occasion he saw 
the monkey take hold of the dish in which 
her food was placed — of a somewhat unusual 
shape — and put it on her head in lieu of a 
hat. Thus arrayed she provoked roars of 
laughter, evidently to her great gratification, 
from the crowd assembled round the cage. 

Another naturalist, all of whose state- 
ments bear the mark of scrupulous exacti- 
tude, Sir Andrew Smith, relates that one 
Sunday, at the Cape of Good Hope, he 
saw a baboon splash muddy water over an 
officer who was on his way to parade. The 
officer had often teased and annoyed the 
monkey, who paid him back with absolute 
hatred. Seeing him coming on this par- 
ticular morning from a distance, it quickly 
poured some water into a hole in the ground, 
mixing it with earth so as to make mud, 
and had it readjtfnCfff l^fri enemy when he 




approached. For a long time after this, 
every time the animal caught sight of the 
officer it was provoked into what had all 
the appearance of laughter. 

Levaillant tells another curious instance of 
dissembling on the part of a monkey which 
he suspected of stealing his eggs. One day, 
after watching a fowl lay an egg, he carefully 
observed the movements of " Kecs," as he 
called the monkey. Kecs was at the top of 
a wagon at the time, but no sooner did it 
hear the hen's clucking than it immediately 
leaped to the ground. Catching sight of its 
master, however, it abruptly stopped, and, 
assuming an air of the most perfect inno- 
cence, swung to and fro on its legs, with 
half-closed eyes, an attitude evidently, in its 
opinion, that would completely mask its 
intentions. It was really quite the behaviour 
one would expect of a very clever child 
caught just as it was about to commit some 
forbidden act. 

Few animals, however, are so fond of a 
joke and a game as the dog. "While in 
Tunis," says Alix, 
" my dog Sfax, 
when quite young, 
was very fond of 
playing * hide and 
seek' with the 
children of the 
and especially 
liked to do so in 
the barn where 
the grain was 
stored. Squeez- 
ing himself in 
among the trusses 
he made the 
most tortuous 
zigzags, and, just 
as the boys who 
were looking for 
him thought they 
were on the point 
of catching him, 

he would suddenly reappear twenty yards 
away in the direction he was least expected, 
eyeing his playmates with a jovial air of 
mischief, as if encouraging them to catch 
him. When they were quite close to him 
he would wag his tail and again bounce off 
as before, and would sometimes keep up this 
game for more than an hour at a time." 

The facetiousness of dogs has often, how- 
ever, a most distinct object. I myself, for 
instance, once had a dog who, in order to 
avoid being punished when he was seen 

Digitized by G< 

leaving the house, which he knew he had no 
right to enter, pretended to be lame. The 
greater the theft — and the object of his enter- 
ing the house was usually to commit some 
sort of theft — the lamer he appeared, and 
thus his very excess of slyness enabled us to 
estimate the extent of his misdeeds. 

Gross, the naturalist, relates several amus- 
ing instances of a similar nature about dogs. 
He had once a dog who, when given a piece 
of bread that he did not care to eat, dropped 
it, and then, lying upon it, pretended to 
look all round with the most innocent air, 
as if wondering where it had fallen. An- 
other case he speaks of is that of a terrier 
whose greatest pleasure it was to catch flies 
on the window-panes. Nothing annoyed the 
animal more than to be laughed at when he 
missed his prey. " In order to discover what 
he would do," says Gross, " I purposely 
laughed immoderately each time he was 
unsuccessful, and the more I laughed the 
clumsier he grew. At last he was so un- 
mistakably annoyed that in his despair he 


pretended to capture a fly, and made the 
appropriate movements of tongue and lips, 
finally rubbing his neck on the ground as if 
to crush his victim, after which he regarded 
me with a triumphant air. So well had he 
played his little comedy that, had I not seen 
the very fly still on the window, I certainly 
would have been taken in by this trick. When 
I called his attention to the fact that the fly 
he had chased was still at large and that there 
was no dead fly on the floor, he perfectly under- 
stood that his hypocrisy had been discovered 
■_■ m l) 11 1 ".1 1 t ro m 




and was so ashamed of himself that he slunk 
away and hid under a couch. The same 
terrier was accustomed to display his good 
temper by performing certain tricks which he 
had learnt by himself, the object of which 
evidently was to provoke laughter. One of 
these tricks was to lie on his side making 
grimaces and putting his paw into his mouth. 
On such occasions nothing gave him greater 
pleasure than to notice that his comical 
exhibition was appreciated. If it passed 
unnoticed, however, he became quite sulky. 
On the other hand, nothing vexed him more 
than for anyone to laugh at him without 
cause. " 

The water-rat has the humorous faculty 
very much developed. Beckmann describes 
one which was kept on a farm in company 
with some domestic quadrupeds, and which 
apparently delighted to tease a basset allowed 
to roam at liberty within a small enclosure. 
Whenever it was very hot the dog left its 
kennel to take a nap in the shade of a lilac 
bush. On such occasions the rat was never 
long in putting in an appearance, but as it 
had a wholesome respect for the basset's 
sharp teeth it maintained a careful distance, 
contenting itself by touching at regular 
intervals with one of its paws the dog's hinder 
part. This was sufficient to keep the drowsy 
dog awake, and almost to drive it to distrac- 
tion. It was in vain that it attempted to 
strike its tormentor. Each time it tried to do 
so the rat adroitly retired out of reach, but no 
sooner had the dog closed its eyes again than 
the same performance recommenced. 

Foals will frequently tease human beings, 
especially by running towards them and then 
suddenly stopping. Scheitlen relates that in 
a certain long, narrow Alpine valley he saw a 
foal running after a group of travellers. It 
had allowed them to pass without paying any 
attention to them, and then rushed after them 
at full speed, pulling up quickly when within 
only a step or two of the party. It im- 
mediately became absorbed in eating grass 
when it saw that it had thoroughly alarmed 
them. But so soon as they were a few yards 
away it would repeat the performance, each 
time causing the people no little alarm. It 
was very clear that the foal was amusing 
itself in exactly the same way as would 
a child who knows himself to be stronger 
than his companions, and trades upon that 

Saville Kent declares that dolphins are 
also very fond of teasing other fish, some 
of which become absolute victims to such 
tyranny. The dolphins seize them by the 

Digitized by CrOOQlC 

tail and drag them through the water, 
shaking them in a manner that must rob 
their victims of all dignity. On one occa- 
sion, this observer states that he noticed 
two dolphins obviously acting according to 
some preconcerted plan, attacking a big 
skate swimming near the surface of the 
water, which tried to escape its pursuers 
by raising its caudal appendage above the 
surface. The dolphins, however, got hold of 
the tail, using it as a handle by which they 
drew the unfortunate skate in every direction. 

The case of the bull which I am about to 
relate is still more interesting, and denotes a 
most remarkable amount of cunning. Mr. 
Bidie relates that when he was living in 
Mysore he had a house surrounded by 
several acres of pasturage that was a sore 
temptation to the cattle in the adjacent 
village, which never lost an opportunity of 
entering whenever the gates were left open. 
Mr. Bidie's servants did their utmost to keep 
the invaders away. One day they came to 
him and anxiously reported that a Brahmin 
bull, a trespasser, on being struck, had fallen 
dead on the spot. These bulls, it must be 
remembered, are sacred and privileged 
animals, being allowed to wander wherever 
the whim takes them, and even permitted to 
eat anything they like in the open native 

Learning that the marauder was dead, Mr. 
Bidie went to examine the matter for himself. 
There, sure enough, was the animal's body 
stretched out and apparently quite dead. 
Much annoyed by this circumstance, which, 
he feared, would provoke trouble among the 
natives, he did not stop to make a detailed 
examination, but quickly returned to his 
house in order to bring the matter before the 
authorities of the district. He had left for 
this purpose, when a man came running after 
him and with much joy in his face declared 
that the bull was once more on its legs, 
calmly eating away as fast as it could ! To 
cut a long story short, the animal had found 
this means of rendering his expulsion from 
the field practically impossible, and whenever 
a place pleased him he resorted to a similar 
ruse so soon as an attempt was made to 
expel him. 

Elephants also are fond of simulating 
death in this same facetious manner. Mr. 
Tennent relates how a recently - captured 
elephant was being taken to • the corral 
between two tame beasts. It had already 
gone in some distance when it suddenly 
stopped and fell to the ground as if dead. 
The thongs were removed from its limbs, and 




then efforts were vainly made to drag the 
carcass out of the corral. Finally, it was 
decided to leave it where it was, but hardly 
had the men retired a few yards before the 
brute leaped to its feet and rushed towards 
the jungle, trumpeting and bellowing with 
all its force, doubtless elephantine cries of 

At the siege of Bhurtpore, 111 1805, Mr. 
Griffiths relates that the high temperature 

have found a watery grave. After many 
ineffectual attempts to get it out it was 
decided to throw a number of hurdles used 
in the siege operations into the water. By 
means of these the sagacious creature arranged 
a sort of ascending plane and thus finally 
reached the level of the ground. 

Numerous instances of facetiousness on 
the part of birds may also be cited. The 
great English naturalist, Romanes, relates 

m m 

'^TTTVM'tt • 

mjm \MV 


caused by the prevalence of hot and dry 
winds produced evaporation of the water in 
all the ponds and reservoirs. In one pond 
only did some water remain, and around this, 
naturally, competition was always very keen. 
On one occasion two elephants were there 
with their attendants, one of them of excep 
tional size and strength. The smaller of the 
two had been given by its master a bucket, 
which it carried at the end of its trunk. 
This bucket its big companion suddenly tore 
away from it. The whole attitude of the 
victim of the outrage denoted how bitterly it 
resented the act, but just as evidently was 
the beast conscious of its inability to avenge 
the insult at the moment. The propitious 
opportunity to be "quits" with its aggressor 
was not long, however, in presenting itself. 
By and by the larger animal turned so that 
it was broadside to the edge of the pond. 
This was what the other had been waiting for. 
Withdrawing a few yards, it suddenly charged 
straight for its enemy, against whose side it 
came at full tilt with its lowered head, 
capsizing the unwieldy carcass into the water. 
The accident, indeed, almost proved fatal, and 
but for its own intelligence the brute would 

Digitized by Lt< 

an instance of a humorous parrot which 
quarrelled with the cat, usually its great 
friend, but which had on one occasion upset 
Poll's seed. After several demonstrations 
of mutual ill-will, the cat and parrot became, 
to all appearances, once more fast friends. 
An hour or so later the parrot, at the edge 
of the table close to a large basin of milk, 
was heard to call out in the most affectionate 
tones : — 

11 Puss, puss ! Come here, puss! " Without 
any suspicion of danger the cat approached, 
innocently lifting its head as it did so. No 
sooner was it just under the board than the 
parrot, with its beak, tilted over the basin 
of milk, drenching the cat entirely, and then 
uttered what sounded very much like a 
sardonic laugh at its victim's bedraggled 
appearance on the floor. 

Braehm mentions an ibis which came 
under his notice, and which, as a rule, led a 
peaceful existence with other birds kept in 
the same enclosure. Towards some of the 
weaker of its feathered colleagues, however, 
it dearly liked to show its supremacy, its 
principal victims being the flamingoes. No 
sooner did; -it.- §fPy-, S-. flamingo asleep with 





•\\w ' W 1'.' V- v ..v.- "V^ 


head tucked under wing than it would 
stealthily approach and pluck gently at the 
slumbering bird's feathers. This no doubt 
caused the sleeper a disagreeable tickling 
sensation sufficient to waken it. Opening its 
eyes drowsily, it would glance timidly at its 
tormentor, then move away a few steps to 
woo sleep once more ; but so soon as its 
eyes were again closed the same scene was 

In conclusion, I would like to cite a case 
of crows which denotes a remarkable amount 
of sagacity combined with the humorous 
spirit It is related by Miss Bird, who 
noticed a dog, in the garden of an inn where 
she was staying, munching a large piece of 
offal under the jealous eyes of a number of 
crows. The birds, it was evident from their 
chattering, had a great deal to say to one 
another about the matter, and from time to 
time one or two of their number, much to 
the annoyance of the dog, attempted to 
snatch away the dainty he was enjoying so 
much. In the end, one of the largest of the 
flock succeeded in tearing away a consider- 

Digitized by G* 

able portion of the 
meat, which it bore 
in triumph to its 
station aloft beside 
its comrades. 
Again there was a 
great deal of chat- 
tering. The dis- 
cussion was a most 
animated one, and 
the result was evi- 
dently that the 
birds had decided 
upon a plan of 
campaign which 
they lost no time 
in carrying out. 
Their first move 
was to group them- 
selves so as to 
completely sur- 
round the greedy 
quadruped. Their 
leader then drop- 
ped the piece of 
meat he had stolen, so that it fell just 
behind the dog. The latter no sooner 
saw this than it momentarily left the larger 
piece of meat to get possession of the 
smaller. The move was fatal. Two of 
the stronger crows pounced upon their prey 
that had been temporarily abandoned, and 
a few moments later the whole of the flock 
were merrily feasting in the branches of a 
neighbouring tree. Their dupe, his first 
moment of surprise ended, could but howl 
with rage below them. 

On another similar occasion three crows, 
who had in vain tried to get possession of 
some meat which a dog was eating, held a 
consultation with the following result. Two 
of them approached the meat as near as they 
dared, while the third pecked vigorously at 
the dog's tail. With an angry yelp it turned 
to repel its aggressor. Thereupon the other 
two seized the meat, and the trio of thieves 
flew up to the top of a high wall, where they 
feasted at their ease. 

Some of the facts I have related may seem 
to some, who have not studied the question, 
exaggerated. I can assure any such sceptics, 
however, that this is by no means the case. 
A number of perfectly independent and 
thoroughly reliable observers have described 
dozens of similar instances so circumstantially 
and with so much concordance in the main 
features that no possible doubt of the truth 
can remain in the minds of unprejudiced 

readers. ^ ■ . £ 

Original from 


A Pair of Rogues. 

By Florence Warden. 

glanced up from his news- 
paper with a look of slight 
agitation on his handsome, 
kindly face, and, pointing to a 
paragraph in the police news, handed the 
paper over to his friend and guest, Peter 
Bassett, who was cracking walnuts and 
sipping his port in a leisurely way, with one 
of the heavy magazines open at the side of 
his dessert plate. 

They were old friends, and in the cosy 
vicarage at Clayton Leas, thirty miles out of 
London, they had passed many an evening 
together during the past twenty odd years. 
Peter Bassett was a thin, swarthy - com- 
plexioned man, with plain, shrewd features 
and a straight mouth. He was a barrister by 
profession, and had chambers in town ; but 
having come into an income which was 
enough for his needs he took life easily, and 
was little seen in the Law Courts. 

" H'm I " was his curt comment when he 
had read the paragraph pointed out to him, 
which told how two men, convicted of an 
attempt at housebreaking, pleaded that they 
had found it impossible, by reason of their 
having been in prison before, to obtain honest 
work of any kind. 

" I've often thought how hard it must be 
for a man to make a fresh start," said Mr. 
Josselyne, " with that awful prison taint upon 
his character." 

" It isn't upon the good characters, only on 
the bad ones," said Peter Bassett, who was 
not a philanthropist, and whose dry manner 
was in strong contrast to the geniality and 
gentleness of his friend. 

"But it's so hard for us to make due 
allowance for the position of these poor 
fellows. One of them, I see, was convicted 
of having stolen a piece of bacon. Now, how 
on earth can you and I understand the feel- 
ings of a man who steals bacon ? I can 
quite believe, for my part, that such a man 
might yield to a sudden temptation who was 
by no means a bad character. Work is 
slack ; the family at home are hungry. Dear 
me ! dear me ! the wonder is to me that the 
poor fellows, in bad times, ever remain 

"Well, your two friends didn't, you see, 
and I don't see why they should expect 
better treatment than others in their case." 

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" But did you see," went on Mr. Josselyne, 
growing warm over his subject, " that a 
policeman came forward to confirm all they 
had said about their having tried to get work 
and failed ? Now, you may be sure he 
wouldn't have done so if they had been 
habitual thieves ! But now think of it. The 
poor fellows will come out, at the end of 
their term, worse off than ever." 

He arose, and walked up and down the 
warm, bright room, with his hands behind 
him and his head bent in thought. 

Presently he stopped short. 

" I've a good mind " he began. 

He was interrupted by his friend, who 
turned his chair round very suddenly to look 
at him with a stern frown. 

" Good mind to what ? " 

Mr. Josselyne's kind face looked almost 
sheepish as he answered : — 

"Well, to show them a little Christian 
charity, and to — give them both a fresh start 
in life." 

Peter Bassett cracked another nut. 

" In what capacity ? " he asked, briefly, 
having extracted from his voice every trace of 
expression or sentiment. 

Mr. Josselyne replied with ever-increasing 
determination : — 

"Wilkins is so old that I've already 
arranged to pension him off. The poor old 
fellow is now so blind that he trips over 
everything, and breaks* more plates and 
dishes than I can afford. And he's so deaf 
that when I ask for bread he brings me a 
' Bradshaw.' " 

" Well, if you can't afford Wilkins's break- 
ages of plates, it seems odd that you should 
be ready to put up with your new friend's 
breakages of the Commandments," was Mr. 
Bassett 's unsympathetic comment. 

" Of course, if he steals again he'll have to 
go," admitted Mr. Josselyne, gently. " But 
he shall have his chance. As a minister of 
the Gospel of mercy and charity I feel some- 
how as if I were called upon specially to do 
this thing that I have in my mind." 

" And what do you propose to do with the 
other one ? " asked Peter Bassett. 

" Well, to tell you the truth, I've had to 
give Wright notice, for he gets no better ; 
and what's the use of his taking the pledge 
one day when I find him the next day asleep 
with his head in the gutter? I really would 
put up with him ^op-^-little longer, but that 




he neglects my poor old horse and frightens 
the servants." 

" Perhaps, on the whole, it will be an 
advantage if you get someone to carry off 
the horse altogether," assented Peter Bassett, 
sardonically. "Then, when coachman and 
gee-gee have disappeared together — as they 
will do — you can set up a new turn-out and 
be comfortable." 

The vicar shook his head and frowned 

4< I love the old animals, the old faces, the old 
ways," he said, with at last a touch of dignity. 

" Well, you're going in for some new ex- 
citements, at any rate," retorted Bassett, 
unrepressed. " I only hope, for your own 
sake, Josselyne, if you do carry out your 
generous intentions, that you'll have tele- 
phonic communication established with the 

To which the vicar made no reply. 

It was a month later when Mr. Josselyne, 
having remained stanch to his resolve, made 
the acquaintance, outside the walls of Worm- 
wood Scrubs Prison, of the two men in 
whom his interest had been excited. 

It must be frankly confessed that his kind 
heart quailed a little at the introduction to 
one of his prot£g£s. 

Robert Martin and William (commonly 
called Bill) Shaw were not the mere lads he 
had supposed, in the first place. Martin was 
a man of about thirty, small, dapper, and sandy 
as to hair. His features were small, his com- 
plexion was pale and freckled, he had evi- 
dently had a fair education, and there was 
about him every indication that he might 
take kindly to the indoor service which the 
good vicar proposed to offer him. 

But as for Bill Shaw, never were the attri- 
butes popularly ascribed to the burglar and 
cut-throat more plainly visible in a human 
being than they were in him. Tall, broad, 
ungainly, with heavy shoulders and a decided 
stoop, Bill looked every inch the criminal, 
and surveyed the kindly vicar with a stolid 
look of contempt and disgust which might 
well have dismayed the stoutest heart. 

His face was dark, his features were coarse ; 
his straight wide mouth, long upper lip, and 
heavy jaw, his beetling brows and deep-set, 
sly eyes, made up a whole so repellent that 
for a moment even the Rev. Ralph, philan- 
thropist and amiable faddist as he was, hesi- 
tated, and would have liked to go back from 
his bargain. 

For, through the good offices of the prison 
chaplain, he had already made known to the 
two criminals the offer he was about to make. 

Digitized by VjQOgJC 

But before he could open conversation 
with either of the men Bob Martin broke out 
into such a voluble flow of gratitude and 
effusive thanks that Mr. Josselyne, unspeak- 
ably touched, had his whole attention ab- 
sorbed by him. 

Bill said never a word. While his com- 
panion poured out his feelings in the most 
touching manner, telling of his struggles, of 
his despair, of his fall, the hulking Bill stood 
like a statue, hands in pockets, and with a 
derisive grin on his ugly face, not moving a 
muscle except to cast at his companion in 
difficulties an occasional knowing wink, which 
the vicar suspected rather than detected, so 
artfully was it performed. 

In vain did Mr. Josselyne turn from 
Martin to Shaw, anxious to elicit from the 
latter some word of kindly, or at least of 
human, feeling. Each time Bill at once 
turned up his eyes, thrust his hands into his 
pockets, and left it to his companion to 
answer for him the questions which the 
kindly vicar put. 

When forced to speak, Bill confined him- 
self to monosyllables, which he uttered in a 
tone so gruff, not to say ferocious, and accom- 
panied by a frown so threatening, that Mr 
Josselyne wondered what good Mrs. Proctor, 
his cook, housekeeper, and tyrant, and poor 
Patty, the bright little parlourmaid, would say 
to this singularly ill-favoured retainer. 

" Do you know anything about horses ? " 
said the vicar to Bill, in his friendliest 

" Yus," was the laconic reply. 

" And do you think you could manage the 
work of a garden, with necessary help in the 
busy season, of course ? " 

" Yus," answered Bill again. 

" And do you think you would be com- 
fortable in such a situation as that I offer ? " 
went on Mr. Josselyne, with an ever- 
strengthening hope that his alarming protege 
would refuse. 

" P'r'aps," was the curt answer, and the 
vicar's heart grew resentful at last. For the 
man's tone implied that his acceptance of the 
proffered situation was a condescension of 
which he was almost ashamed. 

"Of course, I don't wish to force the 
situation upon you," he said, with a wounded 
expression. " Perhaps you have something 
better in view ? " 

"No," said Bill. 

But here Bob Martin, disgusted by his 
companion's behaviour, struck in. 

" Bill," said he, " if you don't thank the 
good gentleman this blessed minute, jest as 




you ought for to 
thank him, on yer 
bended knees so 
to speak, you're 
the good - for- 
noth ingest rascal 
as ever deserved 
what we both got, 
and a bit over ! " 

To which Kill, 
with a clumsy 
twitching of the 
shoulder, replied 
stiffly that he 
" wasn't no good 
at speechifying, like some 

And fearing a disagree- 
ment Mr. Josselyne 
hastened to make the best 
of the situation, and to 
engage them both to ac- 
company him to Clayton 
Leas without delay. 

On the whole 
the introduction of 
the two new ser- 
vants to the rest 
of the household 
passed off better 
than he had ex- 
pected ; for while Mrs. 
at them both, as was 


Proctor looked sourly 
her wont, and bright, 

red-cheeked Patty looked curious, Bob Martin 
w T as so tactful, flattered the housekeeper so 
artfully, and contrived so well to keep the 
forbidding Bill in the background, that all 
Mrs. Proctor said to her master by way of 
protest that evening was that "that there 
Martin didn't seem to know much about 
gentlemen's things," and that she " hoped the 
man Shaw would turn out better than his 

And this was just what the vicar was 
hoping himself. 

Unhappily, his misgivings increased as 
time went by. Martin, indeed, did his very 
best to justify his master's belief in his fellow- 
men. He learned his duties quickly, was 
civil, grateful, and quiet, and, moreover, 
signed a temperance pledge of his own 
accord, kept it, and attended church with 
the greatest regularity. 

He pleased the good vicar further by con- 
sulting him about certain small theological 
difficulties of his own ; and Mr. Josselyne, 
while confessing that they were of a kind 
which had proved puzzling even to himself, 
gave them his energetic attention, and con- 

Vol. xxxl— 22. 

by Google 

suited the heavy 
tomes in his 
library, ransacking 
Jb*^ Hooker, Blair, and 

St Augustine in 
the endeavour to 
satisfy his butler's 
religious doubts. 

Bill Shaw, on 
the other hand, 
was slow, awk- 
ward, taciturn to 
the point of inci- 
vility, and was un- 
doubtedly un- 
steady of gait one 
Saturday night, 
while he refused to 
go to church, with 
the sturdy remark 
that that "wasn't 
one of his dooties 
either to the oss or 
the garden." 

Worse than this 
was the fact that 
little Patty, all un- 
conscious of his 
antecedents, took 
compassion upon 
the surly brute, and 
not only carried his dinner out to him when 
he was busy, but even helped him to harness 
the horse to the vicar's phaeton, and stayed 
to chat with him when she was sent for a 
stick of celery or a beetroot. 

The poor vicar did not know what to do. 
It was his duty to the maidens in his employ- 
ment to guard them from possible harm, and 
it was his duty to the men he was trying to 
reform to keep silence as to their past. But 
the two duties seemed in this case to be 
sadly conflicting. 

The two men had been in their respective 
situations for about a month, when it came 
to the vicar's knowledge that a couple of very 
suspicious-looking individuals had been seen 
lurking about the neighbourhood, peeping 
through the hedges, and lingering close to 
the stable, where Shaw had his two rooms. 

It was impossible, hard as he tried to feel 
comfortable and easy in his mind, for the 
vicar to look upon this circumstance exactly 
as he would have done if he had known less 
of the past of his men-servants. But not 
even to Peter Bassett would he betray the 
anxiety he felt as to his retainers' good 

Bassett had a nasty way of greeting his 

Original from 



friend with some such inquiry as " Not 
murdered yet?" or "How goes it with the 
plate-chest?" jocularities which Mr. Josselyne 
thought uncalled for and in the worst of taste. 
He used to look at the satisfactory Martin 
with an amused expression which nettled the 
vicar, and at the unsatisfactory Bill Shaw 
with an almost boisterous delight which was 
exceedingly irritating to his host. 

" I think, Bassett," the vicar w T ent the 
length of observing one evening, " that, con- 
sidering your knowledge of the circumstances 
under w T hich I engaged my servants, it would 
be in better taste for you not to take so much 
notice of them as you do," 

" My dear Josselyne," replied his friend, 
11 my taste is not good at any time. But it is 
really necessary that I should take notice of 
your servants, as I 
should like to be able 
to identify them both 
when the inquest is 
held upon your mur- 
dered body." 

Even the vicar's 
sweet temper was not 
proof against this in- 
sulting mockery, and, 
though his self-com- 
mand and his sense 
of hospitality were too 
great to allow him 
openly to resent his 
friend's cruel speech, 
there was a percep- 
tible shadow over 
their intercourse from 
that day, which lasted 
until the inevitable 

Mr. Josselyne was 
awakened from sleep 
one chilly November 
night by an uneasy 
sense that something 
was wrong, rather than 
by any loud noise. 

He lay half dream- 
ing, half conscious, 
for a few moments, 

and then sat up suddenly, with listening ears. 
For he could distinguish slight but unusual 
sounds from the lower floor of the house, and 
at the same time he was aware that a strong 
current of cold air was blowing steadily upon 
him from the door, now that his sitting 
position brought his head and shoulders out- 
side the shelter of the bed-curtains. 

Glancing that way he saw that the door 


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was ajar, and he called out, sharply : " Who's 
that ?'" 

There was no answer, but the creaking of 
one of the old boards of the passage told him 
that he had not been mistaken in supposing 
that an intruder of some sort was not far off. 
Jumping out of bed and getting hastily 
into his dressing-gown and slippers, Mr. 
Josselyne discovered, by the tiny jet of gas 
that he always kept burning at night, that 
someone had been in his room. The signs 
were slight enough, indeed, but careful 
inspection showed them to be unmistakable. 
His clothes had been disturbed ; the trifles 
which Jie used to arrange methodically upon 
his dressing-table had been tampered with. 

Seizing the poker, Mr. Josselyne, full of 
ugly fears, hurried out of the room, and went 
with stealthy footsteps down- 
stairs, having by this time ascer- 
tained beyond doubt that the 
sounds he had heard proceeded 
from his study, which was im- 
mediately under his bedroom. 
The door of the study was 
ajar, and he softly pushed it, 
having perceived already that a 
light was being carried about 
within the room. 
The door creaked. 

Just as he had ascer- 
tained, therefore, that the 
room contained three 
men, all of whom were 
muffled and disguised by 
little, roughly-made masks 
of black stuff, he found 
himself seized by a strong 
hand, while a thick 
stick, held high above 
his head in menacing 
fashion, warned him 
to be quiet and 

Though the man 
who held him captive 
was masked like the 
others, the disguise 
was useless. The 
hulking figure, un- 
wieldy movements, and slouching gait betrayed 
the fact that he was ia the tender hands of 
his coachman and gardener, Bill Shaw. 

He had sufficient presence of mind, how- 
ever, not to betray the fact that he recognised 
his valuable dependent. 

The other tw r o men were strangers, and he 
felt unutterably thankful, even at that moment, 
that Martin at least had remained faithful, 

Original from 

B /f/ewj 




and that he was not among the marauders. 
He even fancied that he knew, by the de- 
scription he had had of the two men who had 
been seen lurking near the stable, that they 
were the intruders now before him. 

" Who are you ? And what do you want ? " 
asked Mr. Josselyne, firmly. 

But as he spoke he perceived that both the 
men whom he did not know were armed with 
revolvers, which they carried in the right 
hand, half concealed, in a manner more 
suggestive than if it had been openly 

One of the strangers spoke in a hoarse 

" Well, we're hard up, guv*nor, and we've 
heard as how you're a kind-hearted gentleman. 
So we arst — just arst, mind — if you'll be ser 
good as to hand over to us the money and 
joolry what you keeps all 'oarded up and 
doing no good to nobody." 

" I have very little money and very little 
jewellery that would be of any use to you," 
answered Mr. Josselyne, with an ever- 
increasing fear at his heart that these men 
were no ordinary thieves, but men of 
hardened and desperate character. 

An instinctive movement made by both 
men at the same time as he uttered these 
words confirmed his ugly impression. As 
for the ruffianly Shaw, he still held his stick 
threateningly over his master's head, but was 
careful not to utter a word. 

" Come," said one of the strangers, roughly, 
in the same whisper as his companion ; "that 
won't do. We know you've got money and 
joolry — locked in a safe. And you'll hand it 
over, if you're .wise. It's upstairs, behind 
your bed. So, now, don't make no more bones 
about it, but get up with you, and shell out." 

Without any more ado the powerful Bill 
Shaw dragged the vicar backwards into the 
hall and forced him upstairs, while at the 
same time he wrenched the poker from his 
hand, and, dropping both that and his own 
stick, placed his huge left hand upon the 
vicaPs mouth as a mute warning to hira to 
be quiet. 

Mr. Josselyne took the hint. If he were to 
call out he might indeed bring Martin from 
the little ground-floor bedroom where he 
slept, and the two women from their room at 
the top of the house, upon the scene. But 
what could they do against three armed men, 
except endanger their own lives ? 

So reasoned the unlucky victim of his own 
generosity, as he was dragged up the stairs 
by Bill Shaw's rough hands, and brought to 
the side of his own bed. 

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Once alone with the man whom he had 
befriended, however, the vicar took the 
opportunity to make a despairing appeal to 
his better nature. 

" Shaw," said he, as the ruffian, seeing how 
quiet he was, removed the pressure from his 
captive's mouth, " 1 know you, and I'm 
surprised that you can turn against me like 
this. I've done my best for you, and I've 
put up with a good deal from you. I wonder 
you have the heart to treat me so." 

Shaw, finding himself discovered, from 
sullen became ferocious. 

" Hold yer jaw," said he. " Where's the 
key of the safe ? " 

" How did you know I had a safe ? " asked 
Mr. Josselyne, who had never found the 
coachman in the upper rooms of the house. 

But Shaw disdained to answer. 

" Come on," said he, with a menacing 

Mr. Josselyne hesitated. 

41 And supposing I refuse to be robbed ? 
Supposing I won't find the key or let you 
find it— what then ? " 

Shaw responded simply by a chuckle, and 
by pointing with his thumb over his shoulder 
in the direction of the door. 

And there, by the light of the gas, which 
Shaw had turned on full, the vicar saw, pro- 
truding between the door and the jamb, the 
little, shining muzzle of a revolver covering 
him as he stood. 

With a shiver Mr. Josselyne resigned him- 
self to necessity, and going straight to the 
dressing-table took a small key from an 
artfully-contrived little ledge underneath it, 
and turned in the direction of the bed, which 
Shaw had already drawn away from the wall, 
thus revealing to view a little keyhole, to 
which he pointed silently. 

The vicar was amazed. This safe was 
a contrivance upon which he prided him- 
self, the door of which was papered to 
correspond with the rest of the wall in 
such a fashion that only a person acquainted 
with its whereabouts would have perceived it. 

With an exclamation of dismay the vicar 
obeyed the peremptory gesture of his 
treacherous servant, and, with another shud- 
dering glance at that tiny ring of bright 
metal in the crack of the door, set about 
opening the safe with a trembling hand. 

It contained a cash - box, which Shaw 
snatched out of his hand; the chink of 
gold announced that he had made a satis- 
factory capture. 

Mr. Josselyne turned to him, trembling 

Original from 



"You have nearly fifty pounds there/' 
said he. " Won't that satisfy you ? " 

" Not likely," jeered Shaw. " What's that 
'ere ? " 

And as he spoke he grabbed and drew 
forward a closed box or casket, the lid of 
which was unfastened. There tumbled out 
upon the floor an assortment of jewel-cases, 
a lady's gold watch and chain, a tiny ring 
set with diamonds, and other ornaments of 
considerable value. 

"Leave me those/' said the vicar, in a 
low voice. " They were my wife's. I 
prize them." 

"So do L I must have th 
said Shaw, coolly, as he picked 
scattered treasures and replaced 
them in the casket, which he 
tucked under his arm with the 

The old vicar made one last 

" Shaw/' said he, in a voice so 
low that it could scarcely 
reach other ears than those 
of the ruffian beside him, 
" I don't want to press the 
point, but I've 
been a good 
friend to you." 

Then Shaw ^^ 
made the longest 
speech he had 
ever made to his 
too indulgent master. 

" More fool you," he 
said, in a gruff voice and 
almost boisterously. " It 
was your fad to take us 
in 'and, and we all have to pay for our fads. 
This 'ere," and he shook the cash-t ox and 
rattled the casket, " is what you're payin 7 for 

And with that he strode quickly across the 
room to the door. 

" You can get into bed again now," said 
he, "and nobody won't 'arm you if you 
keeps quiet. So long." 

He nodded to his unhappy master, took 
fhe key out of the door, went out, pushing 
aside the man who was holding the revolver 
to the crack, and, inserting the key on the 
outer side, turned it and tramped away with 
heavy but rapid steps. 

Mr. Josselyne sat down in a little cretonne- 
covered arm-chair near the fireplace, cut to 
the heart, bewildered and dismayed. 

That he had not succeeded in making a 
friend of the redoubtable Bill Shaw he had 

been fully aware, but that Bill should turn 
out such an ungrateful ruffian, brutal, callous, 
and altogether without feeling, was a dis- 
covery which wounded the kind-hearted old 
philanthropist even more than did the actual 
loss he had sustained, great though that was. 
For while the loss of a few pounds was 
nothing to him, he felt the pang of parting 
with his wife's trinkets very deeply. Even 
from a pecuniary point of view the loss was 
considerable, for his wife had been a woman 
of fortune, and her jewels were of value. 




by Google 

But the sentiment which he felt for them 
counted for far more than that, and the poor 
vicar felt, as he rose slowly, relocked the now 
empty safe, and put away the useless key, as 
if a part of his own life had been wrenched 

He was not only wounded, disgusted, and 
dismayed, he was puzzled also by more than 
one aspect of this most strange attack and 
robbery. He had heard one or two faint 
screams from the upper floor, but these had 
ceased with surprising suddenness, within a 
few seconds of the departure of Bill Shaw 
from his room with the booty. 

What had happened to the two women? 
Mrs. Proctor was stout and slow of move- 
Original from 


J 73 

ment, but Patty was young and active, and 
her master would have expected her to show 
some spirit, and at least to do her best to 
raise an alarm. What had happened to 
them ? 

Then, again, what had become of Martin ? 
Had he slept quietly through the whole dis- 
turbance ? It was true that his room was a 
long way from the study, and if entrance had 
been forced through the study window, which 
Mr. Josselyne remembered to have seen with 
a broken pane, the butler might have failed 
to hear any sound. 

He was considering these aspects of the 
affair as he stood helplessly between the bed 
and the locked door, when he became aware 
that the night's events were not yet over. 

A faint murmur of rough voices in the 
room below him reached his ears. It grew 
louder, louder still ; he could make out the 
fact that the speakers were angry, exasperated. 
There was a pause. For some seconds he 
heard nothing more ; then a fearful crash, in 
which glass, furniture, and human bodies 
seemed all to be involved, made him rush 
to the window, fling up the sash, and look 
out into the darkness. 

He heard the voice of Bill Shaw, using 
the most horrible language, threatening, 
bullying. Then two or three voices, one of 
which he recognised as that of Martin. And 
the vicar drew himself up, suddenly illumined. 

Martin had evidently been disturbed at 
last and had burst in among the marauders, 
only to find himself assailed on all sides by 
Shaw and his accomplices. 

The vicar drew a long breath and the 
tears came to his eyes. Just at the moment 
when he had thought himself forsaken by 
everybody, his hopes blighted, his kindness 
ignored, there came this one ray of comfort 
in the thought that one at least of his pro- 
t£g£s was faithful to his master. 

For one weak moment he had let himself 
imagine that even Martin, the docile, grateful 
Martin, had suffered himself to be seduced 
from his loyalty by the machinations of the 
villainous Shaw. 

Strain his ears as he would, he could 
make out nothing distinctly until there came 
another crash, followed by a tumultuous 
flight of dark forms through the broken 
window of the study beneath, and the sound 
of three revolver-shots fired quickly one after 

One, two, three figures, dark, indistinct, 
running at full tilt across the lawn towards 
the shrubbery a few yards away ; that was all 
Mr. Josselyne could make out. A fourth and 

by Google 

a fifth shot sounded sharp and clear, and then 
there was a yell of pain from the shrubbery. 

Mr. Josselyne's blood ran cold. He 
shouted for help, he called Martin by name, 
then Mrs. Proctor, then Patty. 

But nobody came, nobody took any notice 
of his cries. It was in vain that he rattled 
the handle of his door ; at last it came off in 
his hand, and, the lock being stout and he 
nervous and not very strong of muscle, the 
door resisted all his efforts to burst it open. 

He heard certain sounds below which 
made him think that Martin was engaged in 
putting the room straight after the scene 
which had just taken place there ; he heard 
also faint groans and rustlings in the 

But both sounds died away before long, 
and the vicar, more than ever amazed at 
the manner in which he and his cries and 
his knocks were ignored by everybody, at last 
went back to bed, chilled to the bone and in 
the lowest state of bewilderment and depres- 
sion, and presently fell into an uneasy sleep. 

When he awoke in the morning he heard 
whispering going on outside his door, and, 
distinguishing the voices of Mrs. Proctor and 
the village carpenter, he dressed hastily, 
calling to them to unlock his door, and then 
went out and downstairs. 

On the way he caught sight of Patty, with 
bright eyes and cheeks flushed with excite 
ment. But she avoided him and disappeared 
down the back staircase, so that the first 
person whom he exchanged any conversation 
with was Mrs. Proctor, whom he met inside 
the dining-room, where she was busy counting 
the contents of the plate-basket 

"We've got them all back, sir, or nearly 
all," she said, breathlessly. "They was all 
found in the shrubbery. But oh, sir, the 
mess they've made of the study ; you wouldn't 
believe ! " 

"And where's Martin?" asked Mr. 
Josselyne, quickly. 

" Oh, sir, they've took him to the infirmary. 
They say he's very bad. He was shot, you 

" Dear, dear ; I'm very sorry to hear that," 
said Mr. Josselyne. " Poor fellow, I must go 
and see him after breakfast." 

" Yes, sir." 

Mrs. Proctor was nervous and more 
reticent than usual ; she had evidently been 
utterly thrown off her balance by the events 
of the night, and Mr. Josselyne left her to 
her spoon-counting and went into the next 
room, which presented, as she had said, a 
fearful spectacle of wreckage, curtains having 

Original from 



been torn down, windows and mirror 
smashed, tables and chairs overturned, and a 
tablecloth stained with blood. 

The carpenter was already at work on 
the window, one of the frames of which had 
been splintered by a bullet. 

Mr. Josselyne, who was in a state of intense 
nervous excitement, avoided any talk with 
this worthy by returning to the dining-room, 
where he waited quietly for the breakfast to 
be brought in. 

It was Mrs. Proctor who brought it, and 
who informed him that she had sent for the 
police from Great Clayton, the nearest town, 
and also wired to Mr. Bassett, "the first 
thing that morning." 

This last piece of information did not 
please the vicar, who dreaded the triumphant 
41 1 told you so ! " of his sardonic friend. 

However, there was no help for it, and 
even Peter Bassett would be, the vicar felt, 
a more acceptable companion than Mrs. 
Proctor, who appeared to have guessed some- 
thing, not unnaturally, as to the identity of 
the instigator of the outrage, for there was a 
strange look in her face which prepared her 
master for her giving " warning." 

Mr. Josselyne, however, took care not to 
mention Shaw's name, but contented himself 
with asking if the thieves had been caught 

She looked at him hard, and said : — 

"Here comes the p'lice, sir, I think. 
They'll tell you all about that" 

And then she left the room to answer the 
door, but the person whom she ushered in a 
few minutes later was, not the police, but 
Peter Bassett 

The vicar turned all colours, but his 
visitor was merciful, and, instead of uttering 
the yell of triumph which his friend had 
feared, he contented himself by saying the 
proper thing and by asking for particulars. 

" I can't tell you very much myself," said 
the poor vicar, humbly. " I only know that 
1 have to admit you were right about Shaw ; 
he made me clear out the contents of my 
safe, and carried them off before my eyes. 
On the other hand, my poor Martin showed 
great devotion, and was severely wounded by 
the two accomplices whom Shaw had brought 
to help him." 

Mr. Bassett looked puzzled 

" But, really," went on the vicar, " I can't 
tell you very much, for I was locked into my 
room ; and this morning everybody runs 
away from me and seems indisposed to tell 
me anything." 

"Well," said Peter Bassett, "we shall 
learn something from the police." 

by Google 

For voices in the hall had by this time 
announced the arrival of a couple of repre- 
sentatives of law and order, who were shown 
into the room a minute later by Patty, whose 
pretty little face was ablaze with excitement 
and obvious and inexplicable delight 

Even at that moment the vicar noticed 
the girl's radiant face, and was intensely v 
puzzled by it. 

The next moment, however, he was being 
questioned by a police-officer, to whom he 
gave a minute account of the events of the 
night so far as he had participated in them. 
His voice trembled when he confessed that, 
in the man who had taken the most active 
part in the robbery, he had recognised his 
own servant Shaw. 

There was a moment's dramatic silence. 

" He led me upstairs," went on the vicar, 
" and forced me to open my safe — how he 
knew I had one there I don't know — and to 
give up to him the money I had there and — 
and my wife's jewels. I'll show you the safe," 
he added, as, glad of an excuse for moving, 
he led the way up to his bedroom, which had 
by this time been put in order by the 

" Here," said Mr. Josselyne, as he took his 
key from its secret shelf, pulled out the bed, 
and found the tiny keyhole, " is where I kept 
them. And here " 

He stopped short, as if struck with 
paralysis. He had opened the safe, and 
was staring with wild eyes into its recesses. 

"What's the matter?" asked Peter Bassett, 
who had accompanied the police officers 

There was an odd twinkle in his eye, and 
his friend, suddenly catching sight of his 
face, looked at him curiously and began to 
breathe very heavily. 

" What's the matter ? " repeated Peter 

For answer Mr. Josselyne, with a trem- 
bling finger, pointed to two articles which lay 
within the safe. The one was a cash-box 
and the other a casket. 

"What— are those?" he said, hoarsely. 
"I— I don't understand." Then, after a 
moment's pause, he asked sharply, "Who's 
— who's been here ? " 

Even while he spoke the police-superin- 
tendent took out the casket from the safe, 
opened it, and showed, to the old vicar's 
bewildered gaze, the various articles of his 
wife's jewellery, on which he had never 
thought to set eyes again. The cash-box 
was next examined, with the same result. 
Not a coin was missing. 

Original from 




Mr. Josselyne, more overwhelmed by 
this amazing discovery than he had been by 
the events of the night, staggered to the 
window, which Peter Bassett hastened to 
throw open. 

The vicar rubbed his eyes, stared out, 
and stared again. 

For there, wheeling his barrow over the 
grass, as if he had never had anything less 
innocent in his brawny hands, was the 
ruffian Bill Shaw, as cool as a cucumber and 
as surly-looking as ever, glancing up at his 
master with an ugly grin. 

Mr. Josselyne could bear no more. He 
sank into a chair and gasped for breath. 

"That— that— that," stammered he, faintly, 
"is — is the man who — who robbed me, 
who — who stood over me — with a stick, 
and — drove me upstairs ! And there— there 
he is ! " ended he, as, with a shaking 
finger, he pointed vaguely out. 

"We'll have him up, Mr. Josselyne, and 
get him to explain," said the superintendent, 
as he beckoned to the grinning rascal on the 
lawn below. 

Outside the door, when, after a few 
minutes of dead silence, the coachman- 
gardener tramped heavily up, was heard a 
bright girl's voice, saying in a whisper : M Oh, 
Bill ! dear Bill ! " 

? OhlCHK*hl< 

'a' been 
my lass 

by Google 

Again the vicar 
stared. And when 
Bill Shaw lurched 
heavily into the room, 
defiant, surly, impu- 
dent, and forbidding 
as ever, there crept in 
after him, keeping 
very close to his 
elbow and making 
herself very small, 
Patty the parlour- 
maid, flushed as ever, 
and with tears in her 
bright eyes. 

11 Now, then, young 
man, what have you 
got to say for your- 
self?" asked the 
who appeared, 
however, to have 
an inkling of what 
was coming. 

"Say?" said Bill, 
gruffly. " Why, jest 
this 'ere. If it 'adn't 
for me and 
'ere," and 
he jerked his head 
in the direction of 
the weeping, smiling Patty, "blest if that 
there parson 'ud V been alive to-day— much 
less V 'ad his bits o' things back. Patty she 
comes and she gives me the office last night, 
and she says as there was thieves in the 
'ouse, and would I come and drive 'em out. 
So I come, and danged if there wasn't two 
chaps in the study, each with a revolver 
which they p'inted at me. 'Jine us,' says 
they, 'or you re a dead man.' 'Right,' says 
I, and I jined 'em. And when the old chap," 
and he pointed with his thumb to his master, 
u come down, I ketched him by the collar 
and I threatened to biain him, and then I 
did what they told me, took him upstairs, and 
made him give me all he'd got in his safe. 
And then I locked him in, safe out of 'arm's 
way, and I went downstairs, and they thought 
as how I was all right. And when I got the 
chanst, I jest collared them two revolvers, 
and I up and I told 'em to clear out. And 
they did ! Run ! You should jest 'a' seen 

" But who were they ? And how did they 
get in ? " asked Mr. Josselyne, in a tremulous 

" I ain't going for to give 'em away, 'cos 
I've worked with 'em myself once," said 

Original from 

i 7 6 






Shaw, surlily. " But the p'lice'U find 'em," 
he went on, without so much as a glance at 
his master. " As for lettin' of 'em in, that's 
found out, that is. It was your precious 
Martin, what the old chap's so sweet on, as 
let 'em in and smashed the study winder for 
to look as if they'd got in. But I was even 
with 'im, I was. I put 'alf a hounce of lead 
into him and brought him down." 

" You did ! " cried Mr. Josselyne, faintly. 
11 But — I thought — you wanted to shoot me I * 

Shaw grinned, still without condescending 
to glance at his master. 

u Twould 'a' served the old fool right to 
have shot 'im, for taking up with a pair of 
blackguards like Bob Martin and me," he 
mumbled to the policeman. 

"Oh, Bill, hush ! " cried Patty, shocked. 

Mr. Josselyne merely stared. Nothing 
could shock him or astonish him any more. 
He just waved his hand as a sign to the man 
to go on. 

11 I gave the stuff to Patty 'ere," went on 
Shaw, with a sudden surprising note of shame 
in his tone, " and told her as 'ow she was to 
get the key, and for to put the bits o' things 
back this morning as soon as the old chap 
was out of his room. And now, mister," 
and with a sudden access of courage 

he wheeled round 
to face his master, 
"don't you go a- 
worriting me for to 
go to church no 
more. Leastways, 
not till I goes with 
Patty 'ere." 

The super- 
intendent dis- 
missed Shaw 
with a nod, and 
the man, with 
another shame- 
faced grin, sham- 
bled out of the 
room. The vicar 
detained Patty 
by a gesture, as 
she was follow- 
ing him. 

"Patty," said 
he, in a tremu- 
lous voice, "are 
you going to 
marry him ? " 

"Yes t sir; 
please, sir," said 
Patty. "And 
if you only knew, sir, how grateful he is to 
you, you'd wish me joy. My Bill, sir, wouldn't 
hurt a fly. He's got a heart of gold, sir, and 
I thank you, sir, for giving me the chance of 
finding it out." 

The vicar tried to smile, but the attempt 
was an attempt and nothing more. 

" Try and get him,' he said, in a low 
-voice, " to use better language, Patty." And 
he signed to her to follow her lover out of 
the room. 

Peter Bassett thought he deserved a little 

" Well, you've fulfilled your heart's desire. 
You've certainly reformed one man," said he, 

The vicar nodded slowly. 
"Yes, and I ought to be thankful for it," 
he said, huskily ; " but I — I do wish it had 
been, as I thought it was, the — the — the ntce 
one ! " 

"You'll have another chance with him, 
sir," here put in the superintendent, who was 
getting rather impatient, "for he'll be laid 
up at the infirmary for quite a month." 

But the vicar gently shook his head. He 
had learnt his lesson and grown modest. 
For even Bill's conversion was, he felt, more 
Patty's doing than his ! 

by Google 

Original from 

Portraits of Celebrities at Different Ages — New Series. 

BfTggHj N 1886 was 
aJp ^ Alfonso XIII. 

Wh vi^ born into the 

$ *^ h P ur P' e — an( * what 
a purple it was ! 
The country was in the 
throes of revolt. The 
Queen-Mother, stricken with 
grief for her husband, who 
had died of consumption six 
months previously, was hated 
by the populace because of 
her Austrian birth, and the 
child was unfortunately a 
weakling. The Spaniards 
could discover little that was 
Spanish in the infant's face, 
and early detected the now 
famous " Hapsburg lip." Had 
he looked like a real 
Alfonso they might 
have welcomed this 
Royal babe with glad- 
ness. As it was, they A 
could think of him A 
only as his hated 
mother's child. 

Born to an uneasy 
crown and uniting to 
his name the un- 
luckiest of numbers, 
Alfonso XIII. has sur- 
vived, despite the pro- 
phecies of those who 


From a Photo, by Caitellano*. 

said he would not live to 
rule his people. For sixteen 
years his mother devoted to 
his welfare twenty-four hours 
of every day, burying her 
own sorrows in the future of 
her son, watching his youth- 
ful mind quicken under the 
best instructors, and his body 
grow strong in an open-aii 
life. He learned several 
modern languages — English 
under an English governess 
— and enough science, politi- 
cal economy, and civil 
government to fit him for his 
coming duties. But the 
main thing was his health, 
and his body developed even 
faster than his alert 
mind, thanks to his 
regularity in riding, 
fencing, military train- 
ing, and gymnastic 

It was long before 
the Spaniards got to 
like their King or to 
realize how much the 
Spain of to-day owes 
to a mother's love. 
The people began 
to speak of him as 
" El Pequeno" — 

Vol xxx i.— 23. 

age 3. 

From a Photo, by CawteUanot, 


OriainalfiJST-if „ 

from a Photo, by CatUUt 



i 7 8 


From a Photo, by Valentin. Madrid. 

"The Little One" — and so rarely saw him 
on the streets that his appearance as a 
real King, when he took the oath of alle- 
giance in 1902 — some six weeks before the 
interrupted Coronation ceremonies of King 
Edward VII. — came as a surprise. He had 
become a considerable man, his boyish curls 
were giving way to the sterner " thatch M of 
maturity, and his swarthy face showed signs 
of responsibility and strength. He was the 
youngest King in the world, yet seemed to 
understand the burden he had taken upon 
his shoulders. It is related that one of his 
instructors was one day explaining to him 
the mechanism of modern constitutions. 
" But," exclaimed the child, "what is left for 
me in all this Parliamentary business ? Where 
is my place, my power, my authority ? " The 
teacher was so embarrassed that he tried to 
turn the question off. " No, no ! n replied 
the pupil ; " I want to know what I have to 
do ! " It was a question which only the 
years could answer. 

A Spanish monarch has no Coronation in 
the strict sense of the word. He takes the 
"Oath of Fidelity." The ceremonies in 
connection with this were striking and 
picturesque when the boy King conformed 
to this custom, the attendant festivities last- 
ing two weeks. The load of care and the 
amount of work which Alfonso then took 

upon himself were such as might daunt a 
strong man, but His Catholic Majesty has 
a striking personality, a will of his own, and 
a dauntless energy. He is not satisfied to be 
merely a figure-head ; he insists on knowing 
and understanding facts, and means, as he 
recently said, to rule his kingdom with the 
help of his Ministers. The King is soldier, 
sailor, and statesman, well versed in the 
theory of government, political economy, 
history, science, and tactics. He is a fluent 
linguist, speaking and writing English, 
German, French, and Italian, in addition, 
of course, to his native language. He 
rides, drives, motors, fences, boxes, shoots, 
sketches, plays, and sings. In short, he 
is almost as versatile as the German Emperor, 
which is saying a great deal. 

AGE 15. 


From a Photo, by Franten, Madrid. 

Original from 



From a Photo, by Kuuell <t Son*. 

by Google 

Original from 



Frvm a Photo, by Hughs* <£ Mullim, Ryde % Ute of Wi(tfa 


l lUlt. u 



T is reported, with some show of 
fact, that the youngest marriage- 
able King in Europe — Alfonso 

XIII. of 
Spain — is 
shortly to take as bride 
an English Princess, and 
that that Princess is 
the one who used to be 
the favourite grandchild 
of Queen Victoria. If, 
then, it be true that 
Princess Ena of Batten- 
berg is the happy choice 
of the nineteen -year- 
old monarch, none but 
the best wishes of Eng- 
land will go to her in her 
new home and duties. 
It is one of the signi- 
ficant features of our 
Court life thatouryoung 

ALiL. 1 

From u I'lioto. by Hughes tt 

Princes and Princesses are so admirably 
trained to the proper use of future power 
that an alliance by marriage with the English 
Royal Family is eagerly 
sought. There are other 
reasons for it, of course, 
but that is one of the 
more important. 

Now, it has been 
known for some time 
that the King of Spain 
was searching for a 
bride, and it is interest- 
ing in this connection 
to recall a very sen- 
sible speech which he 
made not long since to 
one of his immediate 

"The cases of which 
I have read in history," 
MZ&L**u.t*ofWio*. he said, "and the sad 

AGE 4. 
From a Photo, by Hughes & Mullin$ t Hyde, Isle of Wight 

Ori gin a I JroW * „ M ^ 

&om a Photo, by J. Russell <£ Son. 




examples of some of the reigning families 
inspire me with real terror towards matches 
made solely for State reasons. Although I 
do not like the idea 
of being impelled 
to join in marriage 
bonds with a girl 
whose true senti- 
ments, character, 
and customs are un- 
known to me — be- 
cause I am well 
aware that we live 
in practical times, 
and that it is an 
easy matter for a 
maiden to feign to 
love a youth of my 
age in order to be- 
come Queen — still 
I have sufficient 
knowledge of life not 
to ignore the fact 
that it is pretty diffi- 
cult to find a young 
Princess, however 
austerely brought 

up possessing that charming purity and 
candour which I desire my future wife to 

No doubt this was said much more simply 
than it is writ, but it is curious how aptly 
this descrip- 
tion of the future 
Queen of Spain 
fits the Princess 
Era It is the 
possession of 
these qualities 

AGE 7. 

Frvm a Photo, by Hughes <£' Mullim. Ryde* I*le of Wight, 

has made 
popu lar. 



As one of the 

London papers 

remarked when 

the marriage was 

rumoured, "She 

has made friends 

everywhere since 

the days when, 

as a little child 

at Osborne, 

she used to 

spend her time 

reading fairy 

stories and re- 

tailing them 

to her island friends, or romping with her 

brothers and some English neighbours in the 

villa at Cimiez which Princess Henry took 


From a Photo, by Httghet <£ Mulling, Ryde, Me of Wight 

for her children while she was on the Riviera 
with the late Queen Victoria." 

The Princess Victoria Eugenie Julia Ena 

of Battenberg is 
just one year 
younger than the 
King of Spain, and 
came out last 
season at a ball 
which her mother 
gave at Kensington 

It has often been 
remarked that she 
was the first Royal 
child to be born 
in Scotland during 
a period of nearly 
three hundred 
years — the first, in 
fact, since the 
year 1600, when 
the unfortunate 
Charles I. was 
born. Hence the 
Scotch folk have 
had a natural fond- 
ness for Princess Ena, just as the Irish 
possess a special regard for the Princess 
Patricia, who was born on the 17th of 

And, like Patricia, the Princess Ena is a 

pretty girl, 
albeit her fea- 
tures are a trifle 
sharper than her 
cousin's. Ena is 
a tall, fair girl, 
with much grace 
of figure, an ad- 
mirable linguist, 
and very accom- 
plished. She 
can sing as well 
as the King of 
Spain can play 
"tresillo," and 
she has the true 
English girl's 
love of sport. It 
is said that one 
of her names was 
given to her in 
honour of her 
godmother, the 
ex- Empress 
Eugenie, and it may surprise no one if part, 
at least, of the large fortune possessed by the 
ex-Empress finds Us way back to Spain. 

What is the Finest Dramatic Situation ? 


O most playgoers the finest 
moment in a good play is that 
in which they experience the 
deepest thrill. This, as we 
learn from the critics, is the 
" moment " of the piece ; some- 
times its very excuse, the clou on which the 
playwright has strung his three, four, or five 
acts of dialogue and stage directions. A 
dramatic situation, ingenious, vivid, intense, 
is a highly important factor in the drama. 
Sometimes a mediocre play is saved by 
one good situation. Often a good play of 
character fails because it cannot boast of one. 
Dramatic situations are of many kinds and 
affect differently people of different tempera- 
ments. Recently The Strand Magazine 
addressed the question : "What is the finest 
dramatic situation within your knowledge?" 
to a number of our leading British dramatists, 
with curious and varying results. 

" Of tragedy," writes Mr. Sydney Grundy, 
author of" A Marriage of Convenience," "A 
Pair of Spectacles," and many other plays, " I 
do not presume to speak ; of melodrama I 
know little. As regards comedy, it seems as 
though there were only one situation — some 
variant of the Screen Scene in the ' School for 
Scandal/ Sheridan was not the first to strike 
it, nor shall we be the last. In one shape or 
another, in a more 
simple or more com- 
plex form, obvious 
or occult, it is to 
be found in almost 
every comedy. And 
not in comedy 
alone. It may be 
treated in the 
comedy spirit, as in 
'Lady Winder- 
mere's Fan'; in the 
didactic spirit, as in 
4 The Walls of Jeri- 
cho ' ; in the melo- 
dramatic spirit, as 
in ' Lights Out ' ; 
whilst its tragic pos- 
sibilities are obvi- 
ous. A situation 
which has seen such 
service and is still 
unexhausted I 
cannot bu t consi der 

the best But what does it matter? Has not 
the fiat gone forth ? There are to be no more 
situations ; there is to be no more technique ; 
there are to be no more ' curtains ' ; there is 
to be no more theatre." 

The screen incident in Sheridan's famous 
comedy is too well known to require any 
lengihy explanation. Charles Surface, by 
throwing down the screen behind which Lady 
Teazle has concealed herself, unwittingly 
discovers that lady to her husband's aston- 
ished gaze, and, at the same time, proves 
the ultra- virtuous Joseph to be no better 
than a canting hypocrite. 

Mr. Cecil Raleigh, a playwright famous in 
connection with the great autumn dramas 
at Drury Lane, in the course of his letter 
says : " The situation when the curtain 
falls on the prologue of ' The Silver King* 
is, to a melodramatist, extremely fine. I feel 
inclined to say the finest I have ever seen. 

" I have only seen one that left a more 
vivid impression on my mind. It was 
realized on one night only during *the run of 
4 The White Heather ' at Drury Lane Theatre. 
One of the scenes represented the bottom of 
the sea, where a villainous aristocrat in full 
diving dress went rummaging about the 
wreck of a yacht to find the proof of a 
marriage that he desired to destroy. He was 

by Google 

The Famous Screen Scene in the '* School for Scandal." 

From a Painting by E. Guttave Qtrtulot. 



1 84 


** The Silver King " — Wilfred Denver discovers the murdered body of Geoffrey Ware. 

pursued by another diver, with whom he ulti- 
mately had a knife fight. This other diver 
came apparently from the surface of the 
water and slowly descended from above the 
proscenium to the stage. The diver was 
suspended by a rope round his waist, while 
from his large metal helmet an india-rubber 
tube rose to the supposed surface of the sea. 
On the night that I am thinking of the 
second diver had performed about one-third 
of his hazardous descent when this tube 
caught in something out of sight, and the 
helmet in consequence remained stationary 
and suspended ; but the diver himself went 
on ! In full diving dress, but completely 
bare-headed, he went steadily down to the 
ocean bed. He paused for one irresolute 
moment and looked upward. Then we saw 
the helmet all by itself come slowly down 
after him. He took it without a word, placed 
it securely upon his shoulders, and then 

solemnly resumed his pur- 
suit of the villain. 

" I was concerned in the 
authorship of the play my- 
self, and when the act was 
over I was warmly congratu- 
lated in the foyer by a per- 
sonal friend, who expressed 
his amazement at the extra- 
ordinary manner in which I 
had familiarized myself with 
the mechanical details of 
such a comparatively ob- 
scure business as that of 
deepsea diving. When I 
tell you that the scene I 
have just described was 
witnessed breathlessly, was 
warmly applauded, and did 
not provoke one single laugh y 
you can understand why I 
regard it as quite the most 
remarkable in my experi- 

Although " The Silver 
King" was the first of Mr. 
Henry Arthur Jones's great 
dramatic successes, he has, 
perhaps, never given us a 
finer situation than that 
selected by Mr. Cecil 
Raleigh. None but the most 
callous can fail to be thrilled 
at the chain of circumstances 
which leads Wilfred Denver, 
not unreasonably, to believe 
himself the cause of Geof- 
frey Ware's death. Aroused 
from a debauch by the report of a pistol dis- 
charged by the real murderer, he is horrified 
to see the man whose death he had meditated 
lying by his side, together with the fatal 
weapon. Although he has no recollection 
of having wrought the deed, he is yet con- 
vinced of the bitter hopelessness of the 

11 It is difficult," observed Mr, Henry 
Arthur Jones, whose latest play, " The 
Heroic Stubbs," will, by the time these lines 
appear in print, be before the footlights, 
u to answer the question, there is so much 
material to choose from. Some dramatists 
I could name seem to build their house 
for the sake of the scaffolding, not the scaf- 
folding for the sake of the house. There 
are hundreds of fine situations — especially 
in Shakespeare — but _ so much depends on 
the acting. -'TmaUdS^ Isiif '^^ljA example, in my 




play of 'The Silver King/ when the 
curtain falls on the prologue and the 
hero is supposed to mutter in his excite- 
ment, % I didn't do it.' I confess I always 
thought that was a great situation, but 
entirely spoiled by the actor, who, instead of 
uttering the words in a frenzied whisper, 
shouted them out lustily and emphatically, 
4 1 didn't do it— I didn't do it ! ' I reproved 
the late Wilson Barrett for this fault, and he 
replied, and doubtless quite justly, that the 
public wouldn't appreciate the subtler method 
of delivery. All of which," continued Mr. 
Jones, "shows that much of a given situation 
may depend on the way it is presented, and 
not merely as it is written." 

Mr. R. C Carton, author of " Mr. Hop- 
kinson," " Public Opinion," etc., writes : "As 
I understand, the subject under discussion is 
less a question of a striking and impressive 
situation in the abstract than of what consti- 
tutes an effective end to an act or ' curtain.' 
Well, in most recent plays it has 
been the custom to avoid the spas- 
modic climax of former times. For- 
merly, in drama and comedy alike, 
the characters fell into fixed atti- 
tudes indicative of either surprise or 
horror. The curtain then quickly 
descended, only to be raised again 
still more rapidly, to disclose the 
same characters in the same atti- 
tudes, engaged in what is techni- 
cally known as ' holding the picture.' 

" In these days we usually rely 
on obtaining our ultimate effect 
more quietly — I might almost say 
more insidiously — by means of de- 
scriptive business. Supposing a 
missing will had to be destroyed by 
the villain. He wouldn't burn it to 
slow music, with anxious glances 
over his shoulder. He would prob- 
ably sit down in a comfortable arm- 
chair by the fire and light his 
cigarette with it. Mr. Pinero ad- 
mirably illustrated what I mean at 
the close of the second act of ' The 
Princess and the Butterfly.' 

"It was late in the evening; a 
society man and his wife had been 
entertaining their friends. They 
were a thoroughly disunited couple, 
largely owing to her fault. When 
at the finish they are alone together 
she casually says 'Good night' to 
him and goes to bed. He silently and 
sadly puts out the lights and 

off in the opposite direction. This seems to 
me excellent, because everything is outwardly 
ordinary and commonplace, but the under- 
lying dramatic idea is subtly, but unmis- 
takably, conveyed. 

" I dare say I could find many as good, 
and possibly better, instances of the modern 
'curtain/ but the above example is typical of 
the latter-day method, and is, in my opinion, 
truer to Nature, and therefore, in the better 
sense, more effective than the stalactite 
tableaux of the seventies and eighties." 

" I much doubt," writes Mr. Hall Caine, 
whose play, "The Prodigal Son," recently 
met with such success, " if ( the most effective 
curtain ' is at any time ' the finest dramatic 
situation* in a play. The 'curtain' is 
usually the point of rest, and therefore, 
in the sense intended by Lessing, it 
may be called the statuesque moment 
of the action. On the other hand, 
' the finest dramatic situation ' is, perhaps* 

Yol. xxxi.— 24. 


The Princess and tiib.^utt«rfly''--EiicI of Act IT.—" Good Night. P! 
CHOSE^-'HS'flftl *p|Ti CARTON. 


1 86 


the moment of the strongest dramatic tug, 
the instant at which conflicting passions 
come to grips. This instant is often the 
reverse of statuesque, and has nearly no 
picture that can be realized by the eye alone. 
Therefore, to choose ' the most dramatic 
moment ' known to me and to label it 
1 the most effective curtain ' would be to 
encourage a confusion of ideas that would 
not help but hinder an intelligent interest in 
the construction of drama. I think the 
moment when Hedda Gabler burns the 
manuscript of her former lover is one of 

enough for great passions, and that is because 
the spirit of the age is softer and demands 
more to be soothed by sweet emotions and 
comforted by spiritual compensations than 
to be purged by pity and purified by terror." 

"I think," writes Mr. Alfred Sutro, who 
at a bound, with his "The Walls of Jericho," 
entered the first rank of native playwrights, 
" the most effective situation in modern drama 
is the curtain to the third act of * Hedda 
Gabler,' when Hedda burns the manuscript 
of her lover's book." 

M Hedda Gabler" — Hedda Gabler burns the precious manuscript. 

the most thrilling and effective of curtains in 
a modern play, and I think the situation in 
Novelli's Italian drama, 'The New Drama/ 
in which the husband receives the real love- 
letter instead of the stage ' property p letter, is 
one of the most vivid dramatic moments I 
can at present recall. 

11 But I would say, in a general criticism, 
that great dramatic moments must neces- 
sarily be few in a modern play, and that this 
is due, not primarily to the lack of dramatic 
genius in modern authors, but to the unwil- 
lingness of the modern, world to face the 
great realities of life and death and the 
sternest and starkest of the elemental 
emotions. Drama nowadays is not Greek 

Digitized by V^OOQIC 

Few plays, perhaps, have evoked so much 
controversy as has " Hedda Gabler." Of 
its intense dramatic interest there can be no 
doubt, and the situation selected by both 
Messrs. Hall Caine and Alfred Sutro is the 
most vivid and thrilling in the play. Hedda, 
jealous that another woman should have 
assisted her former lover to write the master- 
piece which was to retrieve his name from 
the ignominy into which it had fallen, resolves 
to destroy the precious manuscript. Sheet 
after sheet she consigns deliberately to the 
flames, and, as she watches them burning, 
whispers with fierce exultation that she is 
destroying what to them had been their 
child, Original from 




Mr. Bernard Shaw, the famous author of 
"Candida," "Man and Superman,"ete., writes: 
11 1 cannot answer the question, as my mind 
does not work in superlatives. Even if it did 
I should still have to point out that plays with 
detachable situations in them are compara- 
tively cheap, simple, mechanical products- 
melodramas, in short. The most effective 
situations on the modern stage occur in 
my own play, * The Devil's Disciple/ but 
'The Devil's Disciple' is a melodrama. 
There is a very ingenious situation in Mr. 
Gillette's * Secret Service ' (another melo- 
drama), in which the hero, having either to 
arrest his own brother as a spy or be himself 
arrested on the same fatal charge, is saved by 
the brother shooting himself. 'The Merchant 
of Venice ' is the most famous English play 
written round a situation. It must have 
been tremendously effective at the first per- 
formance, when the audience did not know 
the solution of the pound of flesh difficulty, 
and did not begin to suspect that the young 
lawyer was Portia until they detected Nerissa 
in the disguise of his clerk. 

tion in five acts, maintaining itself for three 
hours at the pitch that an ordinary 'con- 
structed ' play attains for about five minutes 
at the end of the last act but one. My own 
play, ' Candida,' is a single situation in three 
acts. The masterpieces of Greek tragedy 
were single situations in a single act. Mr. 
St. John Hankin's ' Return of the Prodigal,' 
an unpretentiously light-handed comedy, is 
essentially a single situation in four acts. 
This expansion of the old momentary clap- 
traps, introduced by tedious explanations 
between servants, and followed by a final act 
which was seldom more than a more 
or less adroitly covered -up collapse into 
episodes of sufficient significance, richness, 
and variety to form whole plays, is the most 
hopeful sign about our modern drama. It is 
a pity it is not more generally understood. 
I am constantly praised — as all our leading 
playwrights are praised — for old professional 
tricks that we do no better than Robertson 
or Charles Reade, or Tom r I aylor or Bulwer 
Lytton, or Plautus or Terence ; whilst the 
real advances we make are either missed 

The Trial Scene from " The Merchant of Venice," as played at the Garrick Theatre. 

From a Photo, by Ellis it Wnlery, 


" A first-rate play seems nowadays to have 
no situation, just as Wagner's music seemed 
to our grandfathers to have no melody, 
because it was all melody from beginning to 
end. The best plays consist of a single 
situation, lasting several hours. Mr. Gran- 
ville Barkers play, 'The Voysey Inheri- 
tance/ which shows a mastery that threatens 
to put us all on the shelf, is a single situa- 

altogether or complained of as * undramatic,' 
or some such nonsense." 

Mr. Walter Frith writes : " In answer to 
the question you have addressed me, as to 
in what modern play (and by that I presume 
you mean modern English play) the finest 
dramatic situation is to be found, I should 
unhesitatingly point to the cross-examination 


1 88 


of Mrs. Dane in Mr. H. A. Jones's ' Mrs. 
Dane's Defence.' It was, at any rate as 
played by Sir Charles Wyndham and Miss 
Lena Ashwell, the most interesting and 
moving situation in my experience, either as 
author or critic." 

Mr. Arthur Law, author of "A Country 
Mouse/' " The New Boy/ 1 etc., writes : " Living 
in the country, as I do now, I very seldom visit 
a London theatre, and consequently have 
seen but few of the more recent productions ; 
but with regard to plays of an earlier date, 
one of the strongest situations I can for the 
moment recall is, in my opinion, the curtain 
in the third act of 'The Gay Lord Quex.' 

" Tub Gay Lord Quex *'— Third Act—" Here's your letter ; take it." 

" The higher criticism of the present day 
sorrowfully defines the well-constructed play 
as the * well-made ' play, and tells us that 
plot and situation are theatrical and smell 
of the footlights; but I venture to think 
that when we forget we are writing for the 
theatre the public will forget to attend it." 

The scene chosen by the last named 
dramatist will be remembered as one of the 

most vivid and dramatic of the many con- 
ceived by Mr. Pinero's fertile brain. Sophy, 
a pretty though vulgar manicurist, overhears 
a midnight assignation between Quex, a 
reformed rou^ and, incidentally, the Jiance of 
Muriel Eden, Sophy's foster-sister, and the 
Duchess of Strood. Resolved to prevent the 
marriage if possible by obtaining proofs of 
Quex's infidelity, she decides to play the part 
of eavesdropper. The meeting — a perfectly 
innocent one, by the way — takes place, and 
Sophy is discovered listening at the keyhole. 
Threats, persuasion, and entreaties being of 
no avail, Quex locks himself in alone with 
her and dares her, by rousing the house, to 
sacrifice her reputation, Sophy at length 
agrees to silence, but is made 
to write a compromising letter 
as a guarantee of her good 
faith. Hardly has she done 
so when, suddenly remember- 
ing Muriel and realizing the 
part she is playing, she rushes 
to the bell-rope and tugs at it 
again and again. Quex, over- 
come with admiration at her 
heroism, gives her back the 
compromising letter, and bids 
her escape before the servants 

11 I do not know," writes 
the celebrated playwright and 
librettist, Mr. VV. S. Gilbert, 
"that I am liable to be par- 
ticularly impressed by stage 
c situations.' Among the most 
effective that I remember is 
the situation at the end of 
the fourth act of ' The 
Ticket - of - I^eave Man/ in 
which Hawkshaw, the detec- 
tive, reveals himself to the 

Few, perhaps, of the present 
generation of playgoers have 
ever witnessed Tom Taylor's 
great drama, yet, nevertheless, 
it presents us with a striking 
picture of the difficulties and 
disadvantages under which the ex-convict 
must inevitably labour. The situation above- 
mentioned occurs when the hero, having been 
made the unwilling accomplice of a plot 
to rob his late employer, is wondering how 
he can send a warning in time to prevent 
the nefarious scheme from being successfully 
carried out. ~ He is. give d, however, bv the 
sudden appearsWftg 1 W m Hawkshaw } who. 



•* The Ticket-of-Leave Man "— Hawkshaw reveals himself to the hero. 

adopting the role of a drunken navvy, has 
overheard the conspirators discussing the 
details of the pro- 
posed burglary. 

Mr. Comyns 
Carr, author of 
"King Arthur" 
and adapter of 
the successful 
"Oliver Twist," 
thus writes: "You 
ask me what in my 
opinion is the 
finest situation in 
any play. Forgive 
me if I answer 
that the question 
to my mind has no 
artistic interest or 
significance. I 
know of no situa- 
tion divorced from 
character or from 
the circumstances 
that express 

character which has any 
value whatever. To an- 
swer your question, there- 
fore, I must think of the 
finest play that I know and 
of the finest moment of this 
finest play. 

"The finest play that 1 
know is * Macbeth,' and the 
most beautiful moment of 
that play is to me presented 
in the scene in the third 
act which follows the ban- 
quet, when Lady Macbeth 
and her husband are left 
alone. It is summed up 
in two lines : i What is the 
night?' * Almost at odds with 
morning which is which.'" 
Mr. Comyns Carr has, 
indeed, chosen a great 
moment in Shakespeare's 
greatest drama. Macbeth 
has found his blood-bought 
honours turn to Dead Sea 
apples in his hands. Thrice 
during the feast has the 
phantom of the murdered 
Banquo risen to confront 
its slayer. The banquet is 
broken up, the guests have 
departed in confusion, 
and the conscience-stricken 

regicide is left alone with his evil genius, 

the instigator of all his crimes. 

Frvm a I'hoto. by\ 

by Google 

Scene in " Macbeth." 

[Kllitit Watery. 

Original from 



The Opening Scene of *' Akms and the Man," 

From a Photo, by BuUiugkam. 


man, flying down a narrow street at 
night in front of a pursuing crowd 
of soldiers, flattens himself into a 
doorway, feels the door give behind 
him, and then, as it shuts to with a 
clang, is a prisoner in a perfectly- 
dark house, but with some mys- 
terious person breathing near him, 
Shaw's situation was always a delight 
to me. Possibly a situation is best 
when it is led up to, but I have 
never seen a led-up-to situation on 
the stage that did not betray the 
labour of the dramatist, and that is 
always tedious. I love the idea of 
flinging the complete thing down on 
the stage when the curtain rises. 
Only a prodigal like Shaw would 
ever do it, but he can do it safely." 

"The most poignant dramatic 
situation that I remember in pk,ys 
of comparatively recent years," writes 
Captain Robert Marshall, author of 
"The Duke of Killicrankie," "is 
the scene in the third act of 'The 
Second Mrs. Tanqueray/ when Paula 
suddenly finds herself face to face with 
Captain Ardale, her stepdaughter's 
fiance^ and recognises in him one 
of her own former lovers." 

"The best dramatic 
situation that I recall," 
says Mr, C M. S. McLel- 
lan, author of "Leah 
Kleschna" and other plays, 
"occurs at the beginning 
of Bernard Shaw's play, 
'Arms and the Man.' A 
cheerful and acrobatic 
young soldier, finding him- 
self on the bayonet-points 
of the enemy, is running 
for his life. He climbs a 
waterspout and plunges 
through the open window 
of a house. We see him 
appear just as a lovely 
young lady, whose bed- 
room he has invaded, is 
about to retire for the 
night. The situation is 
enormously dramatic and 
irresistibly humorous. It 
resembles and equals the 
situation in Stevenson's 
story, 'At Sire Malctroit's 
Door/ in which a young 

"The Second Mrs, Tanquf.ray "—Third Act— Paula face to face with Captain Ardale. 

3 y Google 





" I think/' also writes Mr. Cosmo Hamilton, 
" that the most effective dramatic situation 
in any play that I have seen was written by 
Arthur Wing Pinero in 'The Second Mrs. 
Tanqueray.' The whole play was one sus- 
tained dramatic situation from the rise to the 
fall of the curtain. It never once descended 

distance appears 
dim light passes 
over the bridge, 
home. Silently 
with his staff stri 
for admittance. 
"The tragic 

the glow of a lantern. The 
along the piazza and comes 

It is the Jew returning to his 
he approaches the house and 
kes three times upon the door 

And then the curtain falls. 
suggestions of the deserted 

From a Photo, by] 

"The Merchant of Venice" — The Jew returns to his deserted house. 

[Ktlix tt Watery. 

to mere technical effectiveness, but remained 
always a relentless picture of the game of life 
as played by human beings." 

" One of the finest * modern ' dramatic 
situations that I can remember/' says Mr. Geo. 
R. Sims, author of "The Lights of London" 
and countless dramas, "I witnessed quite 
recently at Mr. Bourchier's version of ' The 
Merchant of Venice ' at the Garrick. I have a 
right to consider it a modern situation, because 
it is not in Shakespeare's text, and is presum- 
ably of recent introduction. It occurs at the 
end of the scene outside Shylock's house. 
The Jew bids his daughter remain within the 
house and goes. During her father's absence 
she flies with I^orenzo. It is night, and the 
stage is in semi-darkness. No living soul is 
ip the deserted street. Presently in the 

Digitized by G< 

home and the father henceforward to be 
daughterless are reached without a word. In 
the silence and darkness of the night a note 
of the deepest pathos, of intense dramatic 
force, is struck and not a word is spoken. I 
can recall no finer situation in drama, ancient 
or modern." 

Mr. Austin Brereton writes : " I consider 
the Play Scene in ' Hamlet/ especially its 
termination, as one of the finest situations 
that I can recall. ' Situations ' may have 
gone out of fashion for the moment, but 
they will revive, for they are the natural 
outcome of a good drama. For a play- 
wright to argue that a stage-work should 
not he bound by a recognised formula of 
the theatre is as much as to admit that he 
is enable to construct his piece effectively. 
Original from 




Hamlet T holds its high place upon the 
stage by reason of the mystery which sur- 
rounds its principal character, and also 
because — from the point of view of the stage- 
producer — it is faultlessly constructed until 
the end of the third act— the famous Closet 
Scene between Hamlet and the Queen. 
The Play Scene is led up to in a most natural 
manner, its excitement is cumulative, its 
interest is intense, and he is a very poor 
actor indeed who cannot ' bring down the 
house ' with Hamlet's 'frenzy and his fierce 
joy when the King is * frightened with false 

wife> jealous of his devotion to the child, 
reproaches him bitterly, asserting that it 
occupied the place in his affections that 
belonged by right to her. In her excitement 
she even goes so far as to declare that she 
wished the child were dead. Hardly are the 
words out of her mouth when through the 
open window comes the sound of confused 
cries and shrieks. An accident has happened. 
A child has fallen into the fiord and is 
drowned. In an agony of apprehension she 
rushes out on to the veranda. From out of 
the confused babel of sound one poignant 

' Little Eyolf "—Rita Allmcrs hears the news of her child's death. 

fire ' ! It is a splendid scene and a magnificent 

"So far as I can at present remember," 
says Mr. William Archer, "the most thrilling 
situation known to me in any modern play is 
that at the end of the first act of Ibsen's 
1 Little Eyolf, 1 culminating in the words, 
1 The crutch is floating.' " 

No one who has seen "Little Eyolf" will 
readily forget the situation that Mr. Archer 
has here chosen. Husband and wife are 
alone together. He is a quiet, studious man, 
much wrapped up in their only child, a 
cripple of nine years old. He announces 
his intention of abandoning all other work, 
including the book that was to have made 
him famous, in order to devote himself 
entirely to the upbringing of the boy. His 


sentence sinks like molten lead into her 
brain. Returning to the room she sinks 
down muttering : " The crutch is floating." 
The crutch — little Eyolf s crutch — the child, 
that but now she had been so bitterly 
upbraiding, is dead ! 

In conclusion, Mr. Pinero himself, not 
without a touch of sly humour, writes to say :• — 

" I am so thoroughly well satisfied with the 
opinions of those gentlemen who find the 
most moving dramatic ' situation ' in plays 
of which I am the author, that I will not 
attempt to carry the discussion farther. I beg 
leave to add, however, that a still finer situation 
than any that have been mentioned is likely 
to be contained in a piece which I propose to 
write — after disposing of certain intervening 
tasks — somewhere about the year 1921." 


Puck of Poofrs Hill. 



HEY were fishing a few days 
later in the bed of the brook 
that for centuries had cut deep 
into the soft valley soil. The 
trees closing overhead made 
long tunnels through which 
the sunshine worked in shining blobs and 
patches. Down in the tunnels were bars of 
sand and gravel, old roots and trunks covered 
with moss or painted red by the irony water ; 
foxgloves growing lean and pale towards the 
light ; clumps of fern and thirsty shy flowers 
who could not live away from moisture and 
shade. In the pools you could see the wave 
thrown up by the trouts as they charged 
hither and yon, and the pools were joined to 
each other — ex- 
cept in flood 
time, when all 
was one brown 
rush — by sheets 
of thin broken 
water that 
poured them- 
selves chuckling 
round the dark- 
ness of the next 

This was one 
of the children's 
most secret 
and old Hobden 
the hedger had 
shown them how 
to use it. Ex- 
cept for the click 
of a rod hitting 
a low willow, or 
a switch and 
tussle among the 
young ash-leaves 
as a line hung 
up for the 
minute, nobody 
in the hot pas- 
ture could have 
guessed what 
game was going 
on among the 
trout below the 

Vol xxx i.— 25. 

11 We ; s got half-a-dozen," said Dan, after a 
warm, wet hour. M I vote we go up to Stone 
Bay and try Long Pool." 

Una nodded — most of her talk was by 
nods — and they crept from the gloom of the 
tun'nel towards the tiny weir that turns the 
brook into the mill-stream. Here the banks 
are low and bare, and the glare of the after- 
noon sun on the I^ong Pool below the weir 
makes your eyes ache. 

When they were in the open they nearly 
sat down with astonishment. A huge grey 
horse, whose tail-hairs crinkled the glassy 
water, was drinking in the pool, and the 
ripples about his muzzle flashed like melted 
gold On his back sat an old, white-haired 
man dressed in a loose glimmery gown of 
chain mail. He was bare headed, and a nut 

shaped iron hel- 
met hung at his 
saddle-bow. His 
reins were of red 
leather five or 
six inches deep, 
scalloped at the 
edges, and the 
high padded 
saddle with its 
red girths was 
held fore and aft 
by a red leather 
breastband and 

"Look!" said 
Una, as though 
Dan were not 
staring his very 
eyes out " It's 
like the picture 
in your room — 
'Sir Isumbras at 
the Ford.' " 

The ridsr 
turned towards 
them, and his 
thin, long face 
was just as 
sweet and gentle 
as that of the 
knight who car- 
ries the children 
in that picture 

11 They should 
be here now, Sir 


Copyright, ,906, by Rudyard Kipling, in f^R^f^^ffllGAN 



Richard," said Puck's deep voice among the 

41 They are here," the knight said, and he 
smiled at Dan with the string of trout in his 
hand. "There seems no great change in 
boys since mine fished this water." 

" We can be more at ease in the Ring if 
your horse has drunk," said Puck ; and he 
nodded to the children as though he had 
never magicked away their memories a week 

The great horse turned and hoisted him- 
self into the pasture with a kick and a 
scramble that tore the clods down rattling. 

" Your pardon ! " said Sir Richard to Dan. 
"When these lands were mine, I never loved 
that mounted men should cross the brook 
except by the paved ford. But my Swallow 
here was thirsty, and I wished to meet you." 

u We're very glad you've come, sir," said 
Dan. " It doesn't matter in the least about 
the banks." 

He trotted across the pasture on the sword 
side of the mighty horse, and it was a mighty 
iron-handled sword that swung from Sir 
Richard's belt. Una walked behind with 
Puck. She remembered everything now. 

" I'm sorry about the leaves," he said, " but 
it would never have done if you had gone 
home and told, would it ? " 

"I s'pose not," Una answered. 
"Rut you said that all the fair — 
People of the Hills have left 

"So they have; but I told you 
that you should come and go and 
look and know, didn't I? The 
knight isn't a fairy. He's Sir Richard 
Dalyngridge, a very old friend of 
mine. He came over with William 
the Conqueror, and he wants to see 
you particularly." 

"What for ?" said Una. 

"On account of your great wisdom 
and learning," Puck replied, without 
a twinkle. 

"Us?" said Una. "Why, I 
don't know my Nine Times — not 
to say it dodging, and Dan makes 
the most awful mess of fractions. 
He can't mean us.' 7 

" Una ! " Dan called back. " Sir 
Richard says he is going to tell 
what happened to Weland's sword. 
He's got it Isn't it splendid ? " 

"Nay — nay," said Sir Richard, 
dismounting as they reached the 
Ring, in the bend of the mill-stream 
bank. "It is you that must tell 

Digitized by Kj*QC 

me, for I hear the youngest child in our 
England to-day is as wise as our wisest 
clerk " He slipped the bit out of Swallow's 
mouth, dropped the ruby-red reins over his 
head and the wise horse moved off to graze. 

Sir Richard (they noticed he limped a 
little) unslung his great sword. 

" That's it," Dan whispered to Una. 

"This is the sword that Brother Hugh had 
from Wayland-Smith," Sir Richard said. 
" He gave it me, but I would not take it ; 
but at the last it became mine after such a 
fight as never christened man fought. See!" 
He half drew it from its sheath and turned it 
before them. On either side just below the 
handle, where the Runic letters shivered as 
though they were alive, were two deep gouges 
in the dull, deadly steel. " Now, what thing 
made those ? " said he. " I know not, but 
you, perhaps, can say.*' 

" Tell them all the tale, Sir Richard," said 
Puck. M It concerns their land somewhat." 

11 Yes, from the very beginning," Una 
pleaded, for the knight's good face and the 
smile on it more than ever reminded her of 
11 Sir Isumbras at the Ford." 

They settled down to listen, Sir Richard 
bare-headed to the sunshine, dandling the 
sword in both hands, while the grey horse 




cropped outside the Ring, and the helmet on 
the saddle-bow dinged softly each time he 
jerked his head. 

11 From the beginning, then," Sir Richard 
said, " since it concerns your land, I will tell 
the tale. When our Duke 
came out of Normandy to 
take his England, great 
knights (have ye heard?) 
came and strove hard to 
serve the Duke, because he 
promised them lands here 
and small knights followed 
the great ones. My folk in 
Normandy were poor ; but 
a great knight, Engerrard 
of the Eagle — Engenulf De 
Aquila — who was kin to my 
father, followed the Earl of 
Mortain, who followed 
William the Duke, and I 
followed De Aquila. Yes, 
with thirty men-at-arms out 
of my father's house and a 
new sword, I set out to 
conquer England three 
days after I was made 
knight I did not then 
know that England would 
conquer me. We went up 
to Senlac with the rest— a 
very great host of us." 

" Does that mean the 
Battle of Hastings — Ten 
Sixty-Six ? " Una whispered, 
and Puck nodded, so as not 
to interrupt. 

"At Senlac, over the hill yonder" — he 
pointed south-eastward towards Battle — " we 
found Harold's men. We fought. At the 
day's end they ran. My men went with De 
Aquila's to chase and plunder, and in that 
chase Engerrard of the Eagle was slain, and 
his son Gilbert took his banner and his men 
forward. This I did not know till after, for 
Swallow here was cut in the flank, so I stayed 
to wash the wound at a brook by a thorn. 
There a single Saxon cried out to me in 
French, and we fought together. I should 
have known his voice, but we fought together. 
For a long time neither had any advantage, 
till by pure ill-fortune his foot slipped and 
his sword flew from his hand. Now I had 
but newly been made knight, and wished, 
above all, to be courteous and fameworthy, 
so I forebore to strike and bade him get his 
sword again. 'A plague on my sword/ said 
he. 'It has lost me my first fight. You 
have spared my life. Take my sword.' He 

Digitized by G* 

held it out to me, but as I stretched my 
hand the sword groaned like a stricken man, 
and I leaped back crying, * Sorcery ! ' [The 
children looked at the sword as though it 
might speak again.] 


" Suddenly a clump of Saxons ran out upon 
me and, seeing a Norman alone, would have 
killed me, but my Saxon cried out that I was 
his prisoner, and beat them off. Thus, see 
you, he saved my life. He put me on my 
horse and led me through the woods ten 
long miles to this valley." 

" To here, d'you mean ? " said Una. 

11 To this very valley. We came in by the 
Lower ford under the King's Hill yonder " — 
he pointed eastward where the valley widens. 

"And was that Saxon Hugh the novice?" 
Dan asked. 

4i Yes, and more than that. He had been 
for three years at the monastery at Bee by 
Rouen, where" — Sir Richard chuckled — 
"the Abbot Herluin would not suffer me to 

" Why wouldn't he ?" said Dan. 

" Because I rode my horse into the refec- 
tory, when the scholars were at meat, to 
show the Saxon boys we Normans were not 




afraid of an abbot. It Was that very Saxon 
Hugh tempted me to do it, and we had not 
met since that day. I thought I knew his 
voice even inside my helmet, and, for all that 
eur Lords fought, we each rejoiced we had 
not slain the other. He walked by my side, 
and he told me how a Heathen God, as he 
believed, had given him his sword, but he 
said he had never heard it sing before. I 
remember I warned him to beware of sorcery 
and quick enchantment." Sir Richard 
smiled to himself. " I was very young — very 

" When we came to his house we had 
almost forgotten that we had been at blows. 
It was near midnight, and the great hall was 
full of men and women waiting news. There 
I first saw his sister, the Lady ^Elueva, of 
whom he had spoken in France. She cried 
out fiercely at me, and would have had me 
hanged in that hour, but her brother said 
that I had spared his life — he said not how 
he saved mine from the Saxons — and that 
our Duke had won the day ; and even while 
they wrangled over my poor body, of a 
sudden he fell down in a swoon from his 

" ' This is thy fault,' said the Lady ^Elueva 
to me, and she kneeled above him and called 
for wine and cloths. 

" ' If I had known,' I answered, f he should 
have ridden and I walked. But he set me 
on my horse; he made no complaint; he 
walked beside me and spoke merrily through- 
out. I pray I have done him no harm.' 

"'Thou hast need to pray,' she said, 
catching up her underlip. ' If he dies, thou 
shalt hang.' 

"They bore off Hugh to his chamber; 
but three tall men of the house bound me 
and set me under the beam of the great hall 
with a rope round my neck. The end of the 
rope they flung over the beam, and they sat 
them down by the fire to wait word whether 
Hugh lived or died. They cracked nuts with 
their knife-hilts the while." 

" And how did you feel ? " said Dan. 

41 Very weary ; but I did heartily pray for 
my schoolmate Hugh his health. About 
noon I heard horses in the valley, and the 
three men loosed my ropes and fled out, and 
De Aquila's men rode up. Gilbert De Aquila 
came with them, for it was his boast that, like 
his father, he forgot no man that served him. 
He was little, like his father, but terrible, 
with a nose like an eagle's nose and yellow 
eyes like an eagle. He rode tall war-horses — 
roans, which he bred himself — and he could 
never abide to be helped into the saddle. 

Digitized by ^OOQ IC 

He saw the rope hanging from the beam and 
laughed, and his men laughed, for I was too 
stiff to rise. 

" ' This is poor entertainment for a Norman 
knight,' he said, ' but such as it is let us be 
grateful. Show me, boy, to whom thou 
owest most, and we will pay them.' " 

"What did he mean? To kill 'em?" 
said Dan. 

"Assuredly. But I looked at the Lady 
^Elueva where she stood among her maids, 
and her brother beside her. De Aquila's 
men had driven them all into the great halL" 

" Was she pretty ? " said Una. 

"In all my long life I have never seen 
woman fit to strew rushes before my Lady 
^Elueva,".the knight replied, quite simply 
and quietly. " As I looked at her I thought 
I might save her and her house by a jest. 

" ' Seeing that I came somewhat hastily 
and without warning,' I said to De Aquila, 
C I have no fault to find with the courtesy 
that these Saxons have shown me.' But 
my voice shook. It is — it was not good to 
jest with that little man. 

" All were silent for awhile, till De Aquila 
laughed. ' Look, men — a miracle,' said he. 
1 Hastings' fight is scarce sped, my father is 
not yet buried, and here we find our youngest 
knight already set down in his manor, while 
his Saxons — ye can see it in their fat faces — 
have paid him homage and service. By the 
Saints,' he said, rubbing his nose, ' I never 
thought England would be so easy won I 
Surely I can do no less than give the lad 
what he has taken. This manor shall be 
thine, boy,' he said, ' till I come again, or till 
thou art slain. Now, mount, men, and ride. 
We follow our Duke into Kent to make him 
King of England.' 

" He drew me with him to the door while 
they brought his horse — a lean roan, taller 
than my Swallow here, but not so well 

" * Hark to me,' he said, fretting with his 
great gloves. ' I have given thee this manor 
which is a Saxon hornets' nest, and I think 
thou wilt be slain in a month — as my father 
was slain. Yet if thou canst keep the roof 
on the hall, the thatch on the barn, and the 
plough in the furrow till I come back, thou 
shalt hold the manor from me ; for the Duke 
has promised our Earl Mortain all the lands 
by Pevensey, and Mortain will give me of 
them what he would have given my father 
God knows if thou or I shall live till England 
is won ; but remember, boy, that here and 
now fighting is foolishness and ' — he reached 
for the reins- * craft and cunning is all' 




"'Alack, I have no cunning/ said I. 

" ■ Not yet/ said he, hopping abroad, foot 
in stirrup, and poking his horse in the belly 
with his toe. * Not yet, but I think thou 
hast a good teacher. Farewell ! Hold the 
manor and live. Lose the manor and hang/ 
he said, and spurred out, his shield straps 
squeaking behind 

" So, children, here 
was I, little more than 
a boy, and Hastings' 
fight not two days 
old, left alone with 
my thirty men-at- 
arms, in a land I 
knew not, among a 
people whose tongue 
I could not speak, to 
hold down the land 
which I had taken 
from them." 

" And that was 
here at home ? " said 

11 Yes, here. See ! 
From the upper ford, 
Weland's Ford, to the 
King's Hill Ford, 
west and east it ran 
half a league, From 
the Beacon of Bru- 
nanburgh behind us 
here, south and north 
it ran a full league — 
and all the woods 
were full of broken 
men from Senlac, 
Saxon thieves, Nor- 
man plunderers, 
robbers, and deer- 
stealers. A hornets' 
nest indeed I 

u When De Aquila 
had gone, Hugh 
would have thanked 
me for saving their 

lives ; but the Lady ^lueva said that I had 
done it only for the sake of receiving the 

" ( Could I know that De Aquila would 
give it me?' I said. ' If I had told him 
how I had spent my night in a halter he 
would have burned the place twice over by 

" ( If any man had put my neck in a rope/ 
she said, ' I would have seen that house 
burned thrice over before /would have made 

Digitized by dOOQlC 


" ' But it was a woman/ I said ; and 

I laughed, and she wept and said that I 

mocked her in her captivity. 

" ( Lady/ said I, ' there is no captive in 

this valley except one, and he is not a Saxon.' 
14 At this she cried that I was a Norman 

thief, who came with false, sweet words, 

having intended from 
the first to turn her 
out in the fields to 
beg her bread. Into 
the fields ! She had 
never seen the face 
of war. 

11 1 was angry, and 
answered, 'This 
much at least I can 
disprove, for I swear ' 
— and on my sword- 
hilt I swore it in that 
place — ' I swear I 
will never set foot in 
the Great Hall till 
the Lady yElueva her- 
self shall summon 

" She went away, 
saying nothing, and 
I walked out, and 
Hugh limped after 
me, whistling dolor- 
ously (that is a custom 
of the English), and 
we came upon the 
three Saxons that had 
bound me. They 
were now bound by 
my men-at-arms, and 
behind them stood 
some fifty stark and 
sullen churls of the 
house and the manor, 
waiting to see what 
should fall. We heard 
De Aquila's trumpets 
blow thin through the 
woods Kentward. 
11 * Shall we hang these ? ' said my men. 
" ' Then my churls will fight/ said Hugh, 

beneath his breath ; but I bade him ask the 

three what mercy they hoped for. 

14 ' None,' said they all. ' She bade us 

hang thee if our master died. And we 

would have hanged thee. There is no more 

to it' 

" As I stood doubting a woman ran down 

from the oak wood above the King's Hill 

yonder, and cried out that some Normans 

were driving off the swine there. 




" ' Norman or Saxon,' said I, ' we must 
beat them back, or they will rob us every 
day. Out at them with any arms ye have.' 
So I loosed those three carles and we ran 
together, my men-at-arms and the Saxons 
with bills and bows which they had hidden 
in the thatch of their huts, and Hugh led 
them. Half-way up the King's Hill we found 
a false fellow from Picardy — a sutler that 
sold wine in the Duke's camp — with a dead 
knight's shield on his arm, a stolen horse 
under him, and some ten or twelve wastrels 
at his tail, all cutting and slashing at the 
pigs. We beat them off, and saved our pork 
as well as the swineherd, whom they had tied 
to an oak. One hundred and seventy pigs 
we saved in that great battle." Sir Richard 

" That, then, was our first work together, 
and I bade Hugh tell his folk that so would 
I deal with any man, knight or churl, Norman 
or Saxon, who stole as much as one egg from 
our valley. Said he to me, riding home : 

* Thou hast gone far to conquer England this 
evening.' I answered : ' England must be 
thine and mine, then. Help me, Hugh, to 
deal aright with these people. Make them to 
know that if they slay me De Aquila will 
surely send to slay them, and he will put a 
worse man in my place.' 'That may well 
be true,' said he, and gave me his hand. 

* Better the devil we know than the devil we 
know not, till we can pack you Normans 
home/ And so, too, said his Saxons ; and 
they laughed as we drbve the pigs downhill. 
But I think some of them, even then, began 
not to hate me." 

" I like Brother Hugh," said Una, softly. 

" Beyond question he was the most perfect, 
courteous, valiant, tender, and wise knight 
that ever drew breath," said Sir Richard, 
caressing the sword. "He hung up his 
sword — this sword — on the wall of the great 
hall, because he Said it was fairly mine, and 
never he took it down till De Aquila returned, 
as I shall presently show. For three months 
his men and mine guarded the valley, till all 
robbers and nightwalkers learned there was 
nothing to get from us save hard tack and a 
hanging. Side by side we fought against all 
who came — thrice a week sometimes we 
fought — against thieves and landless knights 
looking for good manors. Then we were in 
some peace, and I made shift by Hugh's 
help to govern the valley — for all this valley 
of yours was my manor — as a knight should. 
I kept the roof on the hall and the thatch on 
the barn, but . . . The English are a bold 
people. His Saxons would laugh and jest 

Digitized by dOOglC 

with Hugh, and Hugh with them, and — this 
was marvellous to me — if even the meanest 
of them said that such and such a thing was 
the Custom of the Manor, then straightway 
would Hugh and such old men of the manor 
as might be near forsake everything else to 
debate the matter — I have seen them stop 
the mill with the corn half ground — and if 
the custom or usage were proven to be as it 
was said, why, that was the end of it, even 
though it were flat against Hugh, his wish 
and command. Wonderful ! " 

" Aye," said Puck, breaking in for the first 
time. "The Custom of Old England was 
here before your Norman knights came, and 
it outlasted them, though they fought against 
it cruelly." 

"Not I," said Sir Richard. "I let the 
Saxons go their stubborn way, but when my 
own men-at-arms, Normans not six months 
in England, stood up and told me what was 
the custom of the country, then I was angry. 
Ah, good days ! Ah, wonderful people ! 
And I loved them all." 

The knight lifted his arms as though he 
would hug the whole valley, and Swallow, 
hearing the chink of his chain-mail, looked 
up and whinnied softly. 

" At last," he went on, " after a year of 
striving and contriving and some little 
driving, De Aquila came to the valley, alone 
and without warning. I saw him first at the 
Lower Ford, with a swineherd's brat on his 

" ' There is no need for thee to give any 
account of thy stewardship/ said he. 1 1 have 
it all from the child here.' And he told me 
how the young thing had stopped his tall 
horse at the Ford, by waving of a branch, and 
crying that the way was barred. 'And if 
one bold, bare babe be enough to guard the 
Ford in these days, thou hast done well,' said 
he, and puffed and wiped his head. 

" He pinched the child's cheek, and 
looked at our cattle in the marshes by the 

" i Both fat,' said he, rubbing his nose. 
'This is craft and cunning such as I love. 
What did I tell thee when I rode away, 

" ' Hold the manor or hang,' said I. I 
had never forgotten it. 

"'True. And thou hast held.' He 
clambered from his saddle and with sword's 
point cut out a turf from the bank and gave 
it me where I kneeled." 

Dan looked at Una, and Una looked at 

11 That's seizin." said Puck, in a whisper. 

I I >-| 1 1 I >.1 1 I w 




aside, and 
his back, 
said he. 


u * Now thou art lawfully seized of the 
manor, Sir Richard,' said he — 'twas the first 
time he ever called me that — ■ thou and thy 
heirs for ever. This must serve till the 
King's clerks write out thy title on a parch- 
ment England is all ours — if we can hold 

" ' What service shall I pay ? ' I asked, and 
I remember I was proud beyond words. 

" ' Knight's fee, boy, knight's fee ! ' said he, 
hopping round his horse on one foot. (Have 
I said he was little, and could not endure to 
be helped to his saddle ?) ' Six mounted 
men or twelve archers thou shalt send me 
whenever I call for them, and — where got 
you that corn?' said he, for it was near 
harvest, and our corn stood well. ' I have 
never seen such bright straw. Send me 
three bags of the same seed yearly, and fur- 
thermore, in memory of our last meeting — 
with the rope round thy neck — entertain me 
and my men for two days of each year in the 
Great Hall of thy manor.' 

" ' Alas ! ' said I, c then my manor is 

■ OOgK 

already forfeit. I am under 
vow not to enter the Great 
Hall.' And I told him what I 
had sworn to the Lady ^Elueva," 
11 And hadn't you ever been 
into the house since?" said 

"Never," Sir Richard 

answered. " I had made me 

a little hut of wood up the hill, 

and there I did justice and 

slept, . . , De Aquila wheeled 

his shield shook on 

'No matter, boy,' 

' I will remit the 

homage for a year.' " 

"He meant Sir Richard 
needn't give him dinner there 
the first year," Puck explained. 
" De Aquila stayed with me 
in the hut and Hugh, who 
could read and write and cast 
accounts, showed him the roll 
of the manor, in which were 
written all the names of our 
fields and men, and he asked 
a thousand questions touching 
the land, the timber, the graz- 
ing, the mill, and the fish-ponds, 
and the worth of every man 
in the valley. But he never 
named the Lady ^Elueva's 
name, nor went he near the 
Great Hall. By night he 
drank with us in the hut 
Yes, he sat on the straw like an eagle ruffled 
in her feathers, his yellow eyes rolling above 
the cup, and he pounced in his talk like an 
eagle, swooping from one thing to another, 
but always binding fast. Yes ; he would lie 
still awhile, and then rustle in the straw, and 
speak sometimes as though he were King 
William himself, and anon he would speak in 
parables and tales, and if at once we saw not 
his meaning he would jerk us in the ribs 
with his scabbarded sword. 

11 * Look you, boys,' said he, * I am born 
out of my due time. Five hundred years 
ago I would have made all England such an 
England as neither Dane, Saxon, nor Norman 
should have conquered. Five hundred years 
hence I should have been such a councillor 
to Kings as the world hath never dreamed of. 
'Tis all here,' said he, tapping his big head, 
f but it hath no play in this black age. Now 
Hugh here is a better man than thou art, 
Richard.' He had made his voice harsh and 
croaking, like a raven's. 

"'TruH^'gj^f^rn'But for Hugh, his 




help and patience and long suffering, I could 
never have kept the manor.' 

" ' Nor thy life either,' said De Aquila. 
'Hugh has saved thee not once, but a 
hundred times. Be still, Hugh/ he said. 
1 Dost thou know, Richard, why Hugh slept, 
and why he still sleeps, among thy Norman 
men-at-arms ? ' 

"'To be near me,' said I, for I thought 
this was truth. 

" ' Fool ! ' said De Aquila. ' It is because 
his Saxons have begged him to rise against 
thee, and to sweep every Norman out of the 
valley. No matter how I know. It is true. 
Therefore Hugh hath made himself an 
hostage for thy life, well knowing that if 
any harm befell thee from his Saxons thy 
Normans would slay him without remedy. 
And this his Saxons know. Is it true, 

" ' In some sort,' said Hugh, shame- 
facedly; € at least, it was true half a year ago. 
My Saxons would not harm Richard now. 
I think they know him ; but I judged it best 
to make sure.' 

" Look, children, what that man had done 
— and I had never guessed it ! Night after 
night had he lain down among my men-at- 
arms, knowing that if one Saxon had lifted 
knife against me his life would have answered 
for mine. 

" * Yes,' said De Aquila. ' And he is a 
swordless man/ He pointed to Hugh's belt, 
for Hugh had put away his sword — did I tell 
you ? — the day after it flew from his hand at 
Senlac. He carried only the short knife and 
the long-bow. ' Swordless and landless art 
thou, Hugh ; and they call thee kin to Earl 
Godwin.' (Hugh was of Godwin's blood.) 
4 The manor that was thine is given to this 
boy and to his children for ever. Sit up 
and beg, for he can turn thee out like a dog, 

"Hugh said nothing, but I heard his teeth 
grind, and I bade De Aquila, my own over- 
lord, hold his peace, or I would stuff his 
words down his throat. Then he laughed 
till the tears ran down his face. 

" c I warned the King/ said De Aquila, 
1 what would come of giving England to us 
Norman thieves. Here art thou, Richard, 
less than two days confirmed in thy manor, 
and already thou hast risen against thy over- 
lord. What shall do to him, Sir Hugh ? " 

" ' I am a swordless man,' said Hugh. 
1 Do not jest with me,' and he laid his head 
on his knees and groaned. 

" ' The greater fool thou,' said De Aquila, 
and all his voice changed ; ' for I have given 

Digitized by vliOOgIC 

thee the Manor of Dallington up the hill 
this half-hour since,' and he yarked at Hugh 
with his scabbard across the straw. 

" « To me ? ' said Hugh. ' I am a 
Saxon, and, except that I love Richard here, 
I have not sworn fealty to any Norman.' 

" c In God's good time, which because of 
my sins I shall not live to see, there will be 
neither Saxon nor Norman in England,' said 
De Aquila. * If I know men, thou art more 
faithful unsworn than a score of Normans I 
could name. Take Dallington, and join Sir 
Richard to fight me to-morrow, if it please 

" c Nay,' said Hugh. i I am no child. 
Where I take a gift, there will I render 
service ' ; and he put his hands between De 
Aquila's, and swore to be faithful, and, as I 
remember, I kissed him, and De Aquila 
kissed us both. 

" We sat afterwards outside the hut while 
the sun rose, and De Aquila marked our 
churls going to their work in the fields, and 
talked of holy things, and how we should 
govern our manors in time to come, and of 
hunting and of horse - breeding, and of 
the King's wisdom and unwisdom, for 
he spoke to us as though we were 
in all sorts now his brothers. Anon a 
churl stole up to me — he was one of the 
three I had not hanged a year ago — and he 
bellowed — which is the Saxon for whispering 
— that the Lady ^Elueva would speak to me 
at the Great House. She walked abroad daily 
in the manor, and it was her custom to send 
me "word whither she went, that I might set 
an archer or two behind and in front to guard 
hen -Very' often I myself lay up in the woods 
and watched her also. 

' " I went swiftly, and as I passed the great 
door it opened from within, and there stood 
my Lady ^Elueva ; ana she said to me : ' Sir 
Richard, will it please you enter your Great 
Hall ?' Then she wept, but we were alone." 

The knight was silent for a long timej his 
face turned across the valley, smiling. 

" Oh/ well done ! " said Una, and clapped 
her hands very softly. " She was sorry, and 
she said so." 

" Aye, she was sorry, and she said so," said 
Sir Richard, coming back with a little start. 
".Very soon — but he said it was two full hours 
later — De Aquila rode to the door, with his 
shield new scoured (Hugh had cleansed it), 
and demanded entertainment, and called me 
a false knight, that would starve his overlord 
to death. Then Hugh cried out that no man 
should work in the valley that day, and our 
Saxons blew horns, and set about feasting 




and drinking, and running of races, and 
dancing and singing ; and De Aquila climbed 
upon a horse-block and spoke to them in 
what he swore was good Saxon, but no man 
understood it. At night we feasted in the 
Great Hall, and 
when the harpers 
and the singers 
were gone we four 
sat late at the high 
table. As I re- 
member, it was a 
warm night with a 
full moon, and De 
Aquila bade Hugh 
take down his 
sword from the wall 
again, for the 
h onou r of the 
Manor of Dalling- 
ton, and Hugh took 
it gladly enough. 
Dust lay on the 
hilt, for I saw him 
blow it off. 

"She and I sat 
talking a little apart, 
and at first we 
thought the harpers 
had come back, for 
the Great Hall was 
filled with a rush- 
ing noise of music. 
De Aquila leaped 
up ; but there was 
only the moon- 
light fretty on the 

said Hugh. 4 It 

is my sword/ and as he belted it on the 
music ceased. 

11 * Over Gods, forbid that I should ever 
belt blade like that/ said De Aquila. 
1 What does it foretell?' 

11 * The Gods that made it may know. last 
time it spoke was at Hastings, when I lost all 
my lands. Belike it sings now that I have 
new lands and am a man again/ said Hugh. 

" He loosed the blade a little and drove it 
back happily into the sheath, and the sword 

answered him low and crooningly, as— as a 
woman would speak to a man, her head on 
his shoulder. 

" Now that was the second time in all my 
life I heard this Sword sing," 

"Look!" said 
Una. "There's 
mother coming 
down the Long Slip. 
What will she say 
to Sir Richard ? She 
can't help seeing 

" And Puck can't 
magic us this time/' 
said Dan. 

"Are you sure?" 
said Puck; and he 
leaned forward and 
whispered to Sir 
Richard, who, smil- 
ing, bowed his head. 

"But what befell 
the sword and my 
brother Hugh I 
will tell on another 
lime/ 1 said he, 
rising. "Ohe, 
Swallow ! " 

The great horse 
cantered up from 
the far end of the 
meadow, close to 

They heard 
mother say: "Chil- 
dren, Gleeson's 
old horse has 


broken into the 
meadow again* Where did he get 
through ? " 

11 Just below Stone Bay," said Dan. M He 
tore down simple flobs of the bank ! We 
noticed it just now. And we've caught no 
end of fish. We've been at it all the after- 

And they honestly believed that they 
had. They never noticed the Oak, Ash, and 
Thorn leaves that Puck had slyly thrown 
into their laps. 

(To be continued.) 

Vol. xjcxL— 23. 

by Google 

Original from 

The Chronicles of the Strand Club. 

In the above group, a number of Members of the Club have attempted, with more or less success, to delineate themselves, 
order that there should be no mistake in identity, each artist has thoughtfully subjoined his autograph. 


T the last meeting of the 
Strand Club the arrival of 
the members was witnessed 
from the pavement in front of 
the Strand Tavern by a large 
and nondescript multitude. 
Hitherto the exact evening upon which the 
Club meets has been kept secret, and it will 
perhaps never precisely be known who the 
imprudent or vainglorious person was who 
divulged it. On account of a slight but 
quite perceptible cheer which greeted Lorri- 
son as he scuttled from his 
four-wheeler to the stair- 
case, Johns declares it was 
Lorrison ; the latter, how- 
ever, avers it was not he but 
Emanuel who evoked the 
plaudits of the crowd, on 
account of a fancied resem- 
blance to a member of the 
new Ministry. Emanuel in 
turn indignantly repudiated 
the charge and pointed to 
Waters, who, having on the 
evening in question impru- 
dently attired himself in the 
picturesque garb of ancient 
Gaul and walked all the way 
from Regent's Park, was, not 
unreasonably, held to be the 
cause of the commotion. As 
a penalty this gifted artist 
was compelled, between the 

fish and the entree, to set the ball rolling, 
which he did with the following true anecdote. 
An old -lady from the country engaged 
a room at a London hotel. Buttons took 
her travelling-bag. " I don't like this room," 
she said. The boy made no reply. "I 
tell you," she went on, angrily, " I do not 
like this room. Nothing will induce me to 
take it It's too horribly small and stuffy, 
and as to sleeping in a folding bed, I'd die 
first." The boy, with a weary expression, 
pushed the old woman inside and pulled the 




by Google 

Original from 



bovd's sketch to illustrate his own story of the sea-sick passenger, 

rope. " This ain't yer room," he said ; " it's 
the lift. 7 ' 

Amidst much laughter the Chairman called 
upon Tom Browne to supply an illustra- 
tion to Waters's 

When the re- 
sult was before 
us, one of our 
clever guests, 
Mr. A. S. Boyd, 
who sat by Bol- 
m a n , volun- 
teered to tell the 
following anec- 

Boyd : You 
know how many 
remedies one 
hears of to pre- 
vent that distress- 
ing complaint, 
mal de merl I 
heard of a brand- 
new one the 
other day. The 
steward on board one of the coasting steamers, 
opening the door of a state-room, found a 
passenger apparently struggling under the 
weight of a heavy portmanteau, which had 
fallen upon him. Taking hold of the handle, 
he exclaimed, " Hope you're not much hurt, 
sir. I'll take the bag 
off in a jiffy, 
To which the 
senger replied, in a 
pained, weary tone, 
"Oh, do let me 
alone ! Don't you 
see this is my pre- 
ventive against sea- 
sickness ? " 

At this point the 
Chairman took occa- 
sion to read out to 
the members the 
following letter, re- 
ceived from a mili- 
tary officer in the 
Punjab : — 

" I have been so 
entertained with the 
reports of your 
Strand Club meet- 
ings that I am temp 
ted to send you a 
story which I have 
introduced into the 
Punjab with enor- 



by GoOgJC 

mous success. If it is not original in 
England, it is in the Punjab." 
Scene : A railway carriage. 
Personam : A young lady. A middle-class 

family of three, 
eating ham 

"Well, 'Arry, 
d'you like the 
sandwiches ? n 

Boy: "I like 
the 'am." 

" Don't say 'am ; 
say 'am." 

Boy : "I am 
saying 'am." 

Mother (to 
young lady): 
"You know 
they both think 
they're saying 

Boyle : Will 
Mr. Frank 
Reynolds oblige me with a delineation of 
the Snake House at the Zoo? A spoony 
young couple of the middle class. Thank 
you. They are observing the movements 
of the anaconda. "Oh, George," murmurs 
the lady, "I wonder what that snake's tied 

himself up into 
such a knot for?" 
George deliberates 
for a few moments. 
" I dessay it's some- 
thing he wants to 
remember,' answers 

Dolamore : Apro- 
pos of stupidity, a 
sergeant was once 
drilling a squad of 
recruits. They were 
incredibly ignorant. 
One country bump- 
kin actually did 
not know his right 
hand from his left. 
The sergeant pro- 
ceeded to teach 
him, and at last 
attained some degree 
of success. "Now, 
yer blessed idiot," 
he said, " hold yer 
'ands in front of 
yer and twist them 


mal m 

USngmal from 



round quickly one over the other. Stop ! 
Now, which is right and which is left?" 
The unhappy recruit stared at his members 
for a moment and then said, " I'm blowed 

if I know now. I've gone and mixed 'em/' a'reddy ? " 

motorists. He surveyed the scene with 
bucolic irritation. " Hi ! hi ! you blame 
fule ! " he called out. " Coom owt o' tha-at I 
Doan't you see that that pigsty be full 


The Chairman ; Will Mr. McCormick kindly Then we had Ehrhart, the American artist 

oblige with a representation of the military whose fame is widely known to the many 
incident to which we have just listened ? thousand readers of Puck. He drew a 

Whereupon the artist courteously complied, picture on the board and told the following 
with the above result. 

We had several distin- 
guished foreign members 
present at the last meet- 
ing, Robinet and Ehrhart 
amongst the number. 
Emberton had been tell- 
ing of a thrilling experi- 
ence of a friend of his 
who lost control of his 
motor-car in the country, 
and our French confrere 
laughingly volunteered to 
give a representation of 
the episode. 

Emberton : My motor- 
ing friend smashed 
through a fence at right 
angles into a farm -yard, 
and then went crashing 
through into an outhouse. 
In the yard was a man 
sawing wood, who appa- 
rently had no love for 

Digitized by LiGOglC 





selection of meat and it had been done up 
in a parcel for him, was agonized to hear the 
butcher call out in stentorian tones, 'Seven 
and a 'arf pounds of shoulder at ninepence 
ha'penny for the gentleman/ The remark 
seemed so manifestly aimed at the custo- 
mer's physical shortcomings that I wager 
he will never enter that shop again." 


anecdote of a very stout lady and a 
polite pedestrian. The latter was trying 
to push past her in his haste, when she 
exclaimed, indignantly, " Really, you had 
better walk over me ! " " Well, I guess, 
marm," he rejoined, in a peculiar Trans- 
atlantic drawl, "that would be easier 
than to ivalk round you I n 

Garry introduced the latest member of 
the Strand Club, the talented Mr. Lawson 
Wood. There 
had evidently 
been collusion 
between Garry 
and himself, be- 
cause Mr. Wood 
went straight for 
the blackboard 
and, handling 
dexterously a 
piece of chalk, 
produced the 
drawing next 
given. Garry 
thus explained : 
"The other day 
a particularly 
bottle-necked in- 
dividual entered 
a West-end 
butcher's shop, 
and, after he 
had made his 


It was now Harry Furniss's turn, and he 
related the following, which some of us were 

inclined to think one 
of the funniest of the 
evening. It was a 
story about a lunatic 







Furniss : A doctor recently 
applied for a bed at a lunatic 
asylum for a patient. The 
resident doctor regretted his 
hospital was full — " Not a bed 
to spare" — 
and explained 
that this was 
caused by the 
great number 
of motor luna- 
tics under his 
control " If 
you do not 
credit my 
added he, 
"come and 
look round 
the wards 

"Why, half 
the beds are 
empty!" ex- 
claimed the 

11 Of course they are," replied the resident 
doctor, " 1 say they are motor lunatics. 
See, half of them are under their beds 
tinkering them up ! " 

A member mentioned something about 
fathers of families who were slaves to their 
children, which re- 
minded Britchard of 
a story about a 
neighbour of his. 

Britchard : It will 
save me a lengthy 
description of the 
appearance of the 
breakfast * room of 
my neighbour's 
house if Pears will 
kindly sketch it for 

There was a brief 
colloquy between the 
artist and the author, 


Omnes (with emphasis) : 
Hesketh : I dare say 
that great things are 
for little ones. The 

with the fol- 
lowing result. 

Britchard : 
Gent lem an 
beneath the 
table {loqui- 
tur) ; " Come 
on, slaves and 
caitiffs, 1 defy 
you! Who 
dares to touch 
a hair of the 
head of your 
anointed King 

dies like 

Eh, what? Is 
that you, cook? 
I thought it 
was little 

Hesketh : 
You know how 
little things 
can be mis- 
taken for great 
ones ? 
We do. 

you also know 

occasionally taken 

best illustration of 


I ever heard was told me yester- 
There was a terrific explosion at the 
gasworks. Three 
hundred tons of 
iron hurled them- 
selves on the frail 
cottage inhabited 
by an aged widow 
who had been re- 
cently much an- 
noyed by small 
boys. " Drat them 
kids," she piped 
out from the 
wreck; "I do 
believe they're a- 
throwing fire-crack- 
ers again." 


by Google 

Original from 


Y brother Bob sometimes says 
that if he dies young or gets 
white hair at the age of thirty 
it will be all my fault. He 
says that I was bad at fifteen, 
worse at sixteen, while "present 
day," as they put it in the biographies of 
celebrities, I am simply awful. This is very 
ungrateful of him, because I have always 
done my best to make him a credit to the 
family. He is just beginning his second 
year at Oxford, so, naturally, he wants 
repressing. Ever since I put my hair up — 
and that is nearly a year ago now — I have 
seen that I was the only person to do this. 
Father doesn't notice things. Besides, Bob 
is always on his best behaviour with father. 

Just at present, however, there was a sort 
of truce. I was very grateful to Bob because, 
you see, if it had not been for him I should 
not have thought of getting Saunders to 
make Mr. Simpson let father hit his bowling 
about in the match with the Cave men, and 
then father wouldn't have taken me to 
London for the winter, and if I had had to 
stay at Much Middlefold all the winter I 


should have pined away. So that I had a 
great deal to thank Bob for, and I was very 
kind to him till he went back to Oxford for 
the winter term ; and I was still on the look- 
out for a chance of paying back one good 
turn with another. 

We had taken a jolly house in Sloane 
Street from October, and I was having the 
most perfect time. I'm afraid father was 
hating it, though. He said to me at dinner 
one night, " One thousand five hundred and 
twenty-three vehicles passed the window of 
the club this morning, Joan." 

II How do you know ? " I asked. 

II I counted them." 

" Father, what a waste of time ! " 

11 Why, what else is there to do in 
London ? " he said. 

I could have told him millions of things, 
but I suppose if you don't like London it 
isn't any fun looking at the sort of sights I 
like to see. 

The morning after this, when father had 
gone off to his club — to count cabs again, I 
suppose — I got a letter from Bob. 

"Dear Kid" (he wrote), — "Just a line 




Hope you're having a good time in London. 
I can't come down for Aunt Edith's ball on 
your birthday, as they won't let me. 1 tried 
it on, but the Dean was all against it. Look 
here, I want you to do something for me. 
The fact is, I've had a lot of expenses lately, 
with my twenty-firster and so on, and I've 
had rather to run up a few fairly warm bills 
here and there, so I shall probably have to 
touch the governor for a trifle over and above 
my allowance. What I want you to do is this : 
keep an eye on him, and if you notice that 
he's particularly bucked about anything one 
day, wire to me first thing. Then I'll run 
down and strike while the iron's hot. See ? 
Don't forget. — Yours ever, Bob. 

" P.S. — There's just a chance that it may 
not be necessary after all. If everything 
goes well I may scrape into the 'Varsity team, 
and if I can manage to get my Blue he will 
be so pleased that a rabbit could feed out of 
his hand." 

I wrote back that afternoon, promising to 
do all I could. But I said that at present 
father was not feeling very happy, as London 
never agreed with him very well, and he 
might not like to be worried for money for 
a week or two. He does not mind what he 
gives us as a rule, but sometimes he seems 
to take a gloomy view of things, and talks 
about extravagance, and what a bad habit it 
is to develop in one's youth, when one ought 
to be learning the value of money. 

Bob replied that he understood, and added 
that a friend of his, who had it from another 
man who had lunched with a cousin of the 
secretary of football, had told him that they 
were thinking of giving him a trial soon in 
the team. 

It was on the evening this letter came that 
Aunt Edith gave her ball. She is the nicest 
of my aunts, and was taking me about to 
places. I had been looking forward to this 
dance for weeks. 

I wore my white satin with a pink sash, 
and a special person came in from Truefitt's 
to do my hair. He was a restless little man, 
and talked to himself in French all the time. 
When he had finished he stepped back, and 
threw up his hands and said, " Ah, made- 
moiselle, c'est magnifique ! " 

I said, " Yes, isn't it ? " 

It was, too. 

I suppose different people have their dif- 
ferent happiest moments. I expect father's 
is when he makes a good stroke at cricket or 
shoots particularly well. And Bob has his, 
probably, when he kicks a football farther 

by V^ 



than anybody else. At least, I suppose so. 
I love cricket, but I don't understand foot- 
ball. At any rate, I know when I feel 
happiest. It is when I know I look nice, 
and when the floor is just right and I have a 
partner whose step suits mine. 

On this particular night everything was 
absolutely perfect. I looked very nice. I 
know one isn't supposed to be aware of this, 
but father and Aunt Edith both told me, as 
well as at least half my partners, so there 
was a mass of corroborative evidence, as 
father says. Then the floor was lovely, and 
everybody seemed to dance well except one 
young man who had come from Cambridge 
for the ball. He danced very badly, but he 
did not seem to let it weigh upon his spirit 
at all. He was extremely cheerful. 

" Would you prefer me," he asked, " to 
apologize every time I tread on your foot, or 
shall I let it mount up and apologize col- 
lectively at the end ? " 

I suggested that we might sit out. He 
had no objection. 

" As a matter of fact," he said, " dancing's 
good enough in its way, but footer's my 

I said, " Oh ! " 

" Yes. Best game on earth, / think. I 
should like to play it all the year round. 
Cricket ? Oh, yes, cricket's good enough in 
its way, too. But it's not a patch on footer. 
I was playing last week " 

My attention wandered. 

" So you see," he went on, " by half time 
neither side had scored. We had the wind 
with us in the second half, so " 

I could never understand football, so I am 
afraid I let my attention wander again. After 
some minutes I heard him say, " And so we 
won after all. Now, you can't get that sort 
of thing at cricket." 

I said, " I suppose not." 

" Best game on earth, footer. I say, see 
that man who just passed us with the girl in 

I looked round. The man he referred to 
was my partner for the next dance. He was 
tall and wiry, and waltzed beautifully. He 
seemed a shy man. I noticed that he 
appeared to find a difficulty in talking to the 
lady in red. He looked troubled. 

"See him?' said my companion. 

I said I did. 

"That's Hook." 

"Yes ; I remember that was his name." 

My companion seemed to miss something 
in my manner — surprise or admiration. 

" T/it Hook, you know," he added. " Cap- 




tain of footer at Oxford. You must have 
heard of T. B. Hook ! " 

I didn't like to say I had not ; so I mur- 
mured, "Oh, T B. Hook!" 

This satisfied him. He went on to describe 
Mr. Hook. 

" Best forward Oxford's had for seasons, 
See him dribble — my word ! Halloa ! there's 
the band starting again. May I take 
you " 

At this moment Mr. T. B. Hook detached 
himself — with relief, I thought — from the 
lady in red, and, after looking about him, 
caught sight of me and made his way in my 
direction. I admired the way he walked. 
He seemed to be on springs, 

He danced splendidly, but in silence. After 
making one remark to him — about the floor 
— which caused him to look scared and 
crimson, I gave up the idea of conversation, 

saying he might play for Oxford. And then, 
quite in a flash, I realized that it was Mr. T. 
B. Hook, and no other, who had the power 
of letting him play or keeping him out, and I 
saw that here was my chance of doing Bob 
the good turn I owed him, I have since 
been told — by Bob — that an idea so awful 
(so absolutely fiendish, was his expression) 
could only have occurred to a girl. In- 
gratitude, as I have said before, is Bob's 
besetting sin. 

One of my aunts is always talking about 
the tremendous influence of a good woman. 
My idea was to try it, for Bob's benefit, on 
Mr. T. B. Hook. 

The music stopped, and we went into the 
conservatory. My partner's silence was 
more noticeable now that we had stopped 
dancing. His waltzing had disguised it. 

We sat down. I could feel him trying to 


and began to think, in a dreamy sort of way, 
in time to the music. It was not till quite 
the end of the dance that my great idea came 
to me. It came in a very roundabout way. 
First I thought about father, then about 
Bob, then about Bob's letter, then about his 

Vol. xxxi.-27. 

find something to say. The only easy 
remark, about the floor, I had already made. 

So I began. 

I said, "You are very fond of football, 
aren't you ? " 

He bri^Snawlcdi^om 




" Oh, yes," he said. " Yes. Yes." 

He paused for a moment, then added, as 
if he had had an inspiration, " Yes." 

"Yes?" I said. 

" Oh, yes," he replied, brightly. " Yes." 

Our conversation was getting quite brisk 
and sparkling. 

" You're captain of Oxford, aren't you ? " 
I said. 

" Oh, yes," he replied. " Yes." 

" I'm very fond of cricket," I said, " but 
I don't understand football. I suppose it's a 
very good game ? " 

"Oh, yes. Yes," 

" I have a brother who's a very good 
player," I went on. 


"Yes. He's at Oxford, too. At Mag- 


" Are you at Magdalen ? " 

" Trinity." 

" Do you know my brother ? " 

I saw he hadn't heard my name when we 
had been introduced, so I added, "Romney." 

" I don't think I know any Romney. But 
I don't know many Magdalen men." 

" I thought you might, because he told me 
you were probably going to put him into the 
Oxford team. I do hope you will." 

Mr. Hook, who had been getting almost 
at home and at his ease, I believe, suddenly 
looked pink and scared again. I heard him 
whisper, "Good Lord !" 

"Please put him in," I went on, feeling 
like Bob's guardian angel. " I'm sure he's 
much better than anybody else, and we 
s/iould be so pleased." 

"You would be so pleased," he repeated, 

"Awfully pleased," I said. "I couldn't 
tell you how grateful. And it would make 
such a lot of difference to Bob. I can't tell 
you why, but it would." 

"Oh, it would V said he. 

" A tremendous lot. You won't forget the 
name, will you? Romney. I'll write it 
down for you on your programme. R. 
Romney, Magdalen College. You will put 
him in, won't you ? I shall be too grateful 
for anything. And father " 

" I think this is ours ? " said a voice. 

My partner for the next dance was stand- 
ing before me. In the ball-room they were 
just beginning the Eton boating-song. I 
heard Mr. Hook give a great sigh. It may 
have been sorrow, or it may have been relief. 

About a week after this father said 

" Halloa ! " as he was reading the paper at 
breakfast. "They're playing Bob at half for 
Oxford, Joan," he said, "against Wolver- 
hampton Wanderers." 

" Oh, father ! " I said ; "are they really?" 

The influence of the good woman had 
begun to work already. 

"Instead of Welby-Smith, apparently. I 
suppose they had to make some changes 
after their poor show against the Casuals. 
Well, I hope Bob will stay in now he's got 

"You'd be pleased if he got his Blue, 
wouldn't you, father ? " 

" Yes, my dear, I should." 

I thought of writing to Mr. Hook to thank 
him, but decided not to. It was best to let 
well alone. \ 

I got a letter from Bob a fortnight later 
saying that he was still in the team, though 
he had not been playing very well. He 
himself, he said, had rather fancied he would 
have been left out after the Old Malvernians' 
match, and he wouldn't have complained, 
because he had played badly ; but for some 
reason they stuck to him, and if he didn't do 
anything particularly awful in the next few 
matches, he said, he was practically a 
certainty for Queen's Club. 

"What's Queen's Club?" I asked father. 

" It's where the 'Varsity match is played. 
W r e must go and see it if Bob gets his Blue. 
Or in any case." 

Bob did get his Blue. I felt quite a thrill 
when I thought of what Mr. Hook had 
suffered for my sake. Because, you see, 
there were lots of people who thought Bob 
wasn't good enough to be in the team. Father 
read me a bit out of a sporting paper in 
which the man who wrote it compared the 
two teams and said that " the weak spot in 
the Oxford side is undoubtedly Romney," and 
a lot of horrid things about his not feeding 
his forwards properly. I said, " I'm sure that 
isn't true. Bob's always giving dinners to 
people. In fact, that's the very reason 
why " 

I stopped. 

" Why what ? " said father. 

" Why he's so hard up, father, dear. He 
is, you know. Its because of his twenty-first 
birthday, he said." 

" I shouldn't wonder, my dear. I re- 
member my own twenty - first birthday 
celebrations, and I don't suppose things have 
altered much since my time. You must tell 
Bob to come to me if he is in difficulties. 
We mustn't be hard on a man who's playing 
in the 'Varsity n,iatch, eh ? my dear j> " 




I said, "No; I'll tell him." 

Bob stopped with us the night before the 
match. He hardiy ate anything for dinner, 
and he wanted toast instead of bread When 
I met him afterwards, though, he was looking 
very pleased with things and very friendly. 

" It's all right about those bills," he said. 
"The governor has given me a cheque. 
He's awfully bucked about my Blue." 

" And it was all me, Bob," I cried. " It 
was every bit me. If it hadn't been for me 
you wouldn't be playing to-morrow. Aren't 
you grateful, Bob ? You ought to be." 

" If you can spare a moment and aren't 
too busy talking rot," said Bob, 
"you might tell me what it's all 

" Why, it was through me you've 
got your Blue." 

"So I understand you to say. 
Mind explaining? Don't, if it 
would give you a head- 

" Why, I met the Oxford 
captain at Aunt Edith's 
dance, and I said how 
anxious you were to get 
your Blue, and I begged 
him to put you in the team. 
And the very next Saturday 
you were tried for the first 

Bob positively reeled, 
and would have fallen had 
he not clutched a chair. I 
didn't know people ever 
did it out of novels. He 
looked horrible. His mouth 
was wide open and his face 
a sort of pale green. He 
bleated like a sheep. 

"Bob, doritr I said. 
" Whatever's the matter ? " 

He recovered himself and 
laughed feebly. "All right, 
Kid," he said, "that's one 
to you. You certainly drew 
me then. By gad ! I really 
thought you meant it at 

My eyes opened wide, 
said, "I did." 

His jaw fell again. 

" You mean to tell me," he said, slowly, 

" that you actually asked Oh, my 

aunt ! " 

He leaned his forehead on the mantel- 

" I can't stay up after this. Good Lord ! the 
story may be all over the 'Varsity ! Suppose 
somebody did get hold of it ! I couldn't 
live it down." 

He raised his head. " Look here, Joan," 
he said ; " if a single soul gets to hear of this 1 
I'll never speak to you again." And he 
stalked out of the room. 

I sat down and cried. 

He would hardly speak a word to me next 
morning. Father insisted on his having 
breakfast in bed, so as not to let him get 
tired ; so I did not see him till lunch. After 
lunch we all drove off to Queen's Club in 


"But, Bob," I 


" \ shall have to go down," he moaned. 

Aunt Edith's motor. While Bob was upstairs 
packing his bag, father said to me, " Here's 
an honour for us, Joan. Bob is bringing the 
Oxford captain back to dinner to-night." 

I gasped. I felt it would take all my 
womanly tact to see me through the inter- 
view. He wouldn't know how offended Bob 
was at being put in the team, and he might 
refer to oii^kdM^rifelieh at the dance f 



Bob was evidently still wrapped in gloomy 
despair when he joined us. He was so silent 
in the motor that father thought he must be 
dreadfully nervous about the match, and tried 
to cheer him up, which made him worse. We 
arrived at the ground at last, and Bob went 
to the pavilion to change. 

We sat just behind two young men whose 
whole appearance literally shrieked the word 
" Fresher " ! When I thought that Bob had 
been just like that a year before and that he 
was really quite different now, I felt so proud 
of my efforts to improve him that I was quite 
consoled for the moment. I was in a gentle 
reverie when father nudged me, and I woke 
up to find that the two young men were dis- 
cussing Bob. "Yes, that's ail very well," 
one of them was saying, the one in the 
brighter brown suit, " but my point is that 
he's too selfish. He doesn't feed his forwards 

I wondered whether this young man had 
been reading the sporting paper. 

" He's pretty nippy, though," said the 

" Personally, if I had been skipper," said 
the bright brown one, " I should have played 
Wei by-Smith. Why they ever chucked him 
licks me." 

"Well, I don't know," the other was 
beginning, when his words were drowned in 
a burst of applause, as the Cambridge team 
came on to the field. There was another 
shout a moment later, and Oxford appeared, 
Bob looking like a dog that's just going to 
be washed. 

" Good," said the bright young man ; 
" we've won the toss. The Tabs'll have to 
play with the sun in their eyes second half. 
Just when it's setting, too." 

I was glad to hear this, because I know 
what a nuisance the sun in one's eyes is at 
cricket, and I suppose it must be just as bad 
at football. 

There was a lot of running about and kick- 
ing at first. A little Cambridge man with 
light hair got the ball after a bit, and simply 
tore down the touch-line till he came to Bob, 
and Bob got in his way, and he kicked it to 
another man, only before he'd got it the other 
man who had been standing nearest to Bob 
at the beginning of the game took it away 
from him and sent it a long way up the field. 

II Well played, Bob ! " said father. " That 
little man with the light hair is Stevens, the 
international. He's the most dangerous man 
Cambridge have got. Bob will have his work 
cut out to stop him. Still, he did it that 
time all right." 

The ball was being kicked about quite near 
the Cambridge goal now, so I thought Oxford 
must be getting the best of it. The little man 
was standing about by himself looking on, as 
if he were too important a person to mix 
himself up with the others. But suddenly 
one of the other Cambridge men sent the 
ball in his direction and he was off with it 
like a flash, and there seemed to be nobody 
there to stop him except Bob, who was 
jumping about half-way down the field. 

All the Cambridge men raced down in the 
direction of the Oxford goal, and Bob met 
the little man as he had done before and 
made him pass to the other man. Then Bob 
rushed for this man, though there was 
another Oxford player rushing for him too, 
and the Cambridge man with the ball waited 
till they were both quite near him and then 
kicked it back to the international. 

" Oh, Romney, you rotter ! " said one of the 
young men in front of me, in a voice of 
agony ; and then there was a perfect howl of 
joy from half the crowd, for the international, 
who hadn't anyone between him and the 
goal but the goalkeeper, who looked 
nervous, ran round and shot the ball through 
into the net. "Well, there's one of their 
goals," said the not quite so bright young 
man. " Chap writing in the Chronicle this 
morning said Oxford would be lucky if they 
only had three scored against them. What a 
rotter Romney was to leave Stevens like that ! 
Why on earth can't he stick to his man? " 

Father looked quite grey and haggard. 

" If Bob's going to play the fool like that," 
he said, " he'd better have stayed at home." 

" What didn't he do?" I asked. 

" He didn't stick to his man. He gets up 
against an international forward, and the first 
thing he does is to leave him with a clear 
field. He must stick to Stevens." 

The whole air seemed full of Bob's wrong- 
doing. I suppose it was a sort of wireless 
telegraphy or something that made me do it 
At any rate, I jumped up and shrieked in 
front of everybody, in a dead silence, too : 
" You must stick to Stevens, Bob 1 " 

Then there was a roar of laughter. I sup- 
pose it must have sounded funny, though I 
didn't mean it ; and everybody who wanted 
Oxford to win took up the cry. Only after 
shouting, " You must stick to Stevens, 
Bob ! " once, they began to shout, " Buck 
up, Oxford!" 

Bob turned scarlet — I was looking at him 
through father's field-glasses — and I believe 
he was swearirg to himself. Then the game 




Bob told me afterwards, in a calmer 
moment, that my cry was the turning-point. 
Up to then he had been fearfully ashamed 
of himself for letting the Cambridge man 
kick the ball away from him, but that now 
he felt that he must look so foolish that it 
was not worth while trying to realize it. He 

self, and if it hadn't been for the Cambridge 
goalkeeper Oxford would have scored any 
number of times. Just before half-time an 
Oxford man did score, so that made them 

"Well, Romney's done all right lately," 
said one of the young men. " If he plays 
like that all the time we 
might win. What on earth 
he was doing at the start I 
can't think." 

The sun was getting very 
low now, and Cambridge had 
to play facing it. It seemed 

said he was like the girl in Shakespeare who 
smiled at grief. He had passed the limits 
of human feeling. The result was that he 
found himself suddenly icy cool, without 
nerves or anxiety or anything. He isn't 
good at explaining his feelings, but I think I 
understand what he meant. I have felt it 
sometimes myself when, directly after I have 
had my best dress trodden on and torn at 
a dance, I have gone down to supper and 
found that all the meringues have been eaten. 
It is a sort of calm, divine despair. You 
know nothing else that can happen to you 
can be bad enough in comparison to be 
worth troubling about. 

Anyhow, the result was that Bob began to 
play really splendidly. I can't judge football 
at all, of course, but even I could see how 
good he was. He slipped about as if he 
were made of indiarubber. He sprang at 
Stevens and took the ball away from him. He 
kept kicking the ball back to the Cambridge 
goal. In fact, he thoroughly redeemed him- 

to bother them a good deal, and Oxford kept 
on attacking, Bob coming up to help. At 
last, after they had been playing about twenty 
minutes, Stevens went off again, and Bob 
had to race back and stop him. He just 
managed to kick the ball over the touch-line. 
One of the Cambridge men picked it up and 
threw it in to another Cambridge man, but 
Bob suddenly darted between them, got the 
ball, and tore down the field. There were 
only two men in front of him besides the 
goalkeeper, and he wriggled past one of 
them, and father stood up and waved his 
hat and shouted instructions. Then the 
last Cambridge man bore down on him. It 
was thrilling. They were on the point of 
charging into one another when Bob kicked 
the ball to the left and ran to the right, and 
the Cambridge man shot past, and there was 
Bob in front of the goal just getting ready to 
shoot. Then the ball whizzed into the net, 
and all over the ground you could see hats 
flying into the air and sticks waving and a 




"then thk ball wiiizzkd into the net." 

great roar went up from everywhere. It 
sounded like guns. " All the same/' said the 
bright brown young man, "he ought to have 

Nothing more was scored, so Oxford just 

The end was rather funny, because I know 
you are wondering what I said to Mr. Hook 
and what he said to me, and what Bob did 
But it wasn't a bit like what I had expected. 
When I came down to the drawing room 
after dressing for dinner Bob and the captain 
were standing talking by the fire. 

M I think you have met my sister already," 
said Bob, dismally. 

" I don't think I've had the pleasure," 
murmured the other man. 

Bob turned to me. 

11 1 thought you said you met Watson at 
Aunt Edith's ball. So you were pulling my 
leg after all ? n 

"I didn't. I wasn't. I said I met the 
captain of the Oxford football team." 

" Well, that's Watson." 

by Google 

" Are you captain, really ? " I asked. 

11 I've always been told so." 

11 Then," I said, " I think it's my duty to 
tell you that there is a man called Hook — 
T. B. Hook — who goes about pretending kes 

" Hook of Oriel ? Rather shy man ? 
Doesn't talk much ? " 


"Oh, he's captain of the Oxford Rugger 
team, you see. I'm captain of the Soccer," 
said Mr. Watson. 

" So it was Hook you asked ? " said Bob. 
"Thank Heaven. You haven't ruined my 
career, after all. Though I admit," he 
added, kindly, " you did what you could." 

It is curious how everything seems to be 
all for the best. You would have thought 
that all my trouble had been wasted. But 
next day, to show his relief, Bob took me 
out and used some of father's cheque in 
buying me the loveliest white "feathery" on 
earth ; showing that out of evil cometh good, 
as our curate at home says f 

Original from 

Some Ancient Maps. 

OST people think they know 
what a map is (though there 
may be some who do not 
know that the word means 
simply a "towel"), but few 
understand the thousand diffi- 
culties in the way of constructing such a 
thing. Any map of the world must of 
necessity present a view in some way dis- 
torted, for it is an attempt to represent a 
globe, or part of a globe, on a flat surface. 
Consequently, as will easily be seen, those 
parts of the world represented, as it were, in 
perspective at the edges are foreshortened and 
suffer in size by comparison with those nearer 
the centre of the map ; and, of course, as 
everybody knows, in Mercator's rectangular 
map the parts about the two poles are enor- 

and Newton. The idea, too, of using lines 
of latitude and longitude on maps was Early 
Greek. But the theories of Pythagoras and 
his disciples were forgotten, and all geo- 
graphical science stood still for many cen- 
turies. In the Middle Ages the Church 
authorities, possessed with a belief that they 
had discovered some discrepancy between 
certain scientific discoveries and the exact 
language of the Scriptures, came down very 
heavily on geography, and for a long time 
geography had the worse of the battle. It 
was quite impossible, said the Church fathers, 
that there could be another side to the world, 
because, since it was obvious that our own 
side was surrounded by a zone of such terrific 
heat as to be quite impassable, the inhabitants 
of any such supposed other side could not 


mously exaggerated. But the concern of this 
paper is not with the difficulties of construct- 
ing a map, but with a short consideration of 
some early attempts at the task. 

It was among the Greeks that the theory 
of the sphericity of the earth first found 
expression, though we are apt to forget any- 
thing earlier than the re-enunciation of the 
idea by Copernicus, and, after him, Galileo 

Rg by VjOOg I 

have come from this, and so could not have 
descended from Adam ; consequently the 
belief in another side of the world was un- 
scriptural This argument was so conclusive, 
and was backed by such practical support in 
the shapeof excellent prisons, that for hundreds 
of years such maps of the world as existed 
looked somewhat like the one a photograph 
of which,;^^^ f^-^eproduced (No. i). 




The date of this map is about a.d, 787, 
and it represents the world as it was long 
believed to be— something of a pancake float- 
ing in a surrounding sea. The fashion of 
keeping the north at the top of the map had not 
then arisen and the east was commonly given 
that place of honour, because the Garden of 
Eden was there. It is to be observed 
marked very conspicuously in this map with 
Adam and Eve, and the serpent curling up a 
post, complete. This map, like others of the 
time, was divided to represent the continents 
of Europe, Asia, and Africa. Asia is observed 
at the top, and Asia and Africa are divided 
from Europe (which appears to the left, 
below) by seas of regular width and rect- 
angular joining. Another very regular sea 
cuts off a piece from the south of Africa, in 

served to be dotted with islands at regular 
intervals, each of a proper rectangular shape. 
I his also is the shape of the islands shown 
on the outer ocean, past the edges of the 
world, including the island of Britain. Out- 
side of the ocean and beyond everything the 
presiding genii of the four winds are to be 
observed, astride on articles resembling soda- 
water bottles, whereout the four winds them- 
selves are busily escaping. The original of 
this map is in the library of Turin* 

The map-makers were always anxious to 
conform with the letter of the Scriptures, and, 
although the map just considered agreed very 
well with the dictum that the waters be 
gathered into one place and the dry land 
appear, it caused doubts among those who 
remembered a Biblical reference to the " four 


case it might afterwards be found that there 
was something else in the world as well as 
Europe, Asia, and Africa. This portion is 
simply labelled with a I^atin inscription, 
proclaiming that there is a fourth part of the 
world, the only part unknown, fabulously 
supposed to be inhabited. Two dark marks 
of an irregularly triangular shape are to 
be noticed close by Adam's side, and 
similar marks deface the world at other 
places. These are mountains. The two 
particular mountains mentioned are those of 
the Caucasus and of Armenia. The sea 
separating Europe and Africa is, of course, 
the Mediterranean, and itf ^&|Jjfr| ffc 

corners of the earth." So that some of these 
latter persons began drawing a square world, 
and in the year 1109 one cartographer came 
out with the brilliant compromise next figured 
(No. 2). Though this is not exactly square, 
neither is it altogether round, and though the 
four corners are not particularly angular, still 
they may be said to be there, and so it was 
hoped that everybody would be satisfied. 
Adam and Eve are still to be perceived on 
the upper (or east) side, and the snake is 
even curlier than before. The surrounding 
ocean is well supplied with fishes of many 
miles in length, each decorated with a tail of 
extreme elegant?^ n alto© rrPUter islands are 




still severely rectangular, and it is interesting 
to see that Scotland is south of Britain, 
separated by many miles of sea and one 
fish. The map is brilliantly coloured, and it 
appears in a book containing a commentary 
on the Apocalypse. The manuscript was 
written in the monastery of Silvo, in the 
diocese of Burgos, in Old Castile. 

Now, one very great object in making a 
map of the world circular was to get Jerusalem 
into the exact centre. It was a firm 
mediaeval belief that Jerusalem occupied the 
centre of the world, and here again the 
mediaeval geographers relied on the letter of 
Biblical text, " This is Jerusalem ; I have set 
it in the midst of the nations round about 
her," was the text, and to the ordinary person 
the meaning seems simple and plain enough 
without straining it to an argument that 
Jerusalem must occupy the precise centre of 
the world. But the hair-splitters of mediaeval 
scholasticism were not ordinary persons. In 
the map we have just been speaking of, 
Jerusalem, represented by something resem- 
bling a highly ornamented gateway, w r as placed 
somewhere within a few thousand miles, 
more or less, of the middle, as a sort of per- 
functory acknowledgment of 
the rule. 

This brings us to the 
famous Hereford map of 
the world (No. 3). This is 
in Hereford Cathedral, and 
geographers regard it as the 
most complete and the best 
executed of all the specula- 
tive maps which set forth 
the imaginative theories of 
our forefathers as to the 
world they lived in before 
the era of great geographical 
discovery set in. It is a 
large map — six feet four in 
height altogether and one 
foot less in width. It is 
drawn with a pen and illu- 
minated in gold and colours 
on vellum, which vellum is 
mounted on wood. The 
whole thing is supposed 
once to have served as an 
altar-piece in old times, and 
it was executed within a 
year or two of 1200 a.d,, 
the precise date being un- 
certain. Again we see the 
world represented as a cir- 
cular island surrounded by 
the ocean, and again 

Vol, xxxi.— 28 

Jerusalem is in the exact centre, enclosed in 
a battlemented circle, above which is drawn a 
representation of the Crucifixion. The east 
is at the top, and all the upper or eastern 
half of the world is Asia, the western or low T er 
half being divided by the Mediterranean, 
leaving the northern part for Europe and the 
southern for Africa. Here is to be observed 
a curious error on the part of the cartographer, 
doubtless a slip due to temporary absence of 
mind. After labouring minutely and carefully 
at the myriad tiny inscriptions and drawings 
of strange creatures, in the end he placed the 
names of continents in large letters across his 
work, and did it so abstractedly as to 
exchange two of the names, so that the 
continent of Africa was labelled "Europa" 
and the continent of Europe " Africa,*' 
Modern cynics may be disposed to suggest 
that this trifling circumstance makes little 
difference to the accuracy or to the intelli- 
gibility of the map as a whole, but even in the 
year 1200 they knew that Africa did not lie 
to the north of Europe, 

In this map the representations of fabled 
monsters in different parts are very complete 
and very interesting, A perfect menagerie 

by Google 


Original from 



of them is placed along the southern edge of 
the world, to the right of the map. Among 
these were the Blenyere, who had no heads, 
but carried their faces on their chests ; the 
people who went on all fours ; and the one- 
legged people whose feet (one foot to each 
person) were so big that they were habitually 
used by the lucky possessors as umbrellas. 
One of these people may be observed high 
up in the map, rather to the left, seated on 
the ground and sheltering himself in his 
accustomed manner. He is not far off from 
Paradise, a circle at the very top of the map, 
wherein Adam and Eve are eating the for- 
bidden fruit, and the four rivers — Euphrates, 
Tigris, Phison, and Gion — are running in all 
directions. England, Ireland, and Scotland 
may be observed, 
though perhaps 
not recognised, 
on the lower part 
of the map to the 
left, on the ex- 
treme edge of the 
world. Each is a 
separate island — 
indeed, Ireland, 
which is ex- 
tremely narrow 
and very long in- 
deed, appears to 
consist of two ; 
while there is no- 
thing in the least 
like reality in the 
shape of any one 
of the three king- 

This Hereford 
map, as we have 
said, was the 
high water mark 
of cartography of 
the old school. 
For long there 
was no improve- 
ment on it — in- 
deed, subsequent 
maps were for 
a long time 

altogether inferior to it. In the latter half 
of the fourteenth century Ranulph Higden 
achieved a manuscript book which he called 
the " Polycronicon." He prefaced it with 
two maps of the world, the larger and 
fuller of which we here reproduce (No. 4) 
— though the original is crudely coloured. 
The map goes across two pages, and probably 
the draughtsman intended it to be more or 


by Google 

less round. But when your space is half as 
long again as broad, and you want to use as 
much of it as possible, the world is apt to 
get squeezed in at the sides ; consequently, 
for this occasion, the earth is oval Jeru- 
salem, also, has to be pushed a trifle out of 
the centre to make way for the join of the 
pages ; but in most respects this particular 
map sticks to tradition. The east is at the 
top, with an oblong Eden, this time blank. 
At the extreme west, at the bottom, the 
Pillars of Hercules are shown as actual 
pillars, a trifle shaky. All the islands, 
whether in the Mediterranean or in the 
outer ocean, are nicely square or oblong, so 
as, to avoid irregularity, except one or two 
which happen to have got into awkward 

corners of the 
sea and can't be 
square without 
interfering with 
the mainland or 
crowding out 
some of the in- 
scription. The 
stolid and well- 
fed -looking per- 
sons whose por- 
traits in medal- 
lions are set out 
at regular inter- 
vals all round the 
outer ocean repre- 
sent various 

In the mean- 
time, maps of 
particular parts of 
the world were 
apt to approxi- 
mate a trifle 
nearer to accu- 
racy. Perhaps 
this was because 
such maps were 
constructed, as a 
rule, by inhabi- 
tants of the par- 
ticular parts 
The earliest native map of this country at pre- 
sent extant is that of Matthew Paris (No. 5), 
the monk-historian, drawn in his "History 
of England." Its date is 1259, and it has 
remained perfect except for some part cut 
away at the western edge, which carries off 
a piece of Cornwall. The map includes 
England, Scotland, and Wales, and it is pre- 
sented with the north uppermost. It is 

Original from 



it is two hundred years later than 
that of Matthew Paris — is the one 
of which we place a photograph 
next (No. 6). It is a small map, 
on vellum, coloured, and with the 
sea painted a heavy green. Towns 
and rivers are shown and counties 
and mountains are altogether neg- 
lected. It may be that the carto- 
grapher was aided by an inspection 
of Matthew Paris's map, but if so 
he struck out on a line of his own 
by turning the map upside down, 
the south being at the top. The 
coast of Kent is somewhat made 
amends to in this map, though a 
large bite is taken out of the 
ancient county on the south for no 
particular reason. London is re- 
presented by a noble building, 
which seems to be a compound of 
the Tower and old St. Paul's. It 
is interesting to perceive that the 
Thames flows in at the back-door 
of this venerable pile and comes 
out at the front. Rochester is 
marked by another castle, and 
Beaulieu consists of a Noah's Ark 


lettered, sometimes with the names of places 
in their pure English form, sometimes 
Latinized. There is a curious confusion 
as to the coast conformation of Essex and 
Kent, which brings Thanet round to the 
south coast and discharges the Thames into 
the English Channel. London is promi- 
nently represented, the label carrying the 
name being crowned with lordly battlements. 
Norfolk, Suffolk, Somerset (spelt "Sumset"), 
Dorset, and other counties are plain to the 
eye, while Windsor, Bristol, Dunstable, 
Cicester (Chichester), Dova (Dover), and 
many other towns only need a little search. 
Altogether the worthy and patriotic monk 
did very excellently indeed, seeing that he 
had no surveys or other maps to go upon, 
and so did it "all out of his own head," as 
the children say. And if his coast-line is a 
bit out, and if the Thames does lose itself 
now and then, Matthew at least made a good 
beginning for other men to work on. 

Another early map of this country— though 



Original from 



with the bottom off. Newcastle, Dover, 
Gloucester, Exeter, and a few other towns 
are represented by baronial castles in the 
familiar form of a toy zoetrope. But the 
most elaborate of all the towns is York 
(Eboracum), consisting of a confusion of 
roofs, spires, towers, and walls as large as a 
county, with a river wandering casually up and 
down the debris. True, the whole heap is 
nearer where Liverpool ought to be than York, 
but that is the sort of mistake that occurs in 
an upside-down map. The pious condition of 
the extreme north of Scotland is also notice- 
able, the district accommodating nothing but 

The maps we have hitherto considered have 
all been based upon some attempt, however 
unsuccessful, to present the outlines of the 
countries of the world as they were supposed 
to be. But there is another very ancient 
and very famous map (No. 7) in which no 

of the appearance of this map can be obtained 
from our reproduction of a photograph of the 
first of the sheets. The zigzag lines are the 
roads, and if it were not for the lettering 
scattered about the sheet anybody might 
safely be defied to guess what part of the world 
the map represented. The cartographer never 
bothered himself about the points of the 
compass or any other vain imaginings of the 
kind. He knew nothing of north, south, 
east, or west — his cardinal points were simply 
left and right. He drew a line for a road, 
and he turned it left and right as the road 
turned ; and after the proper number of 
turnings he wrote the name of a town, or if 
it were a very large town he drew the bath 
it contained in the shape of a sort of square 
barrack. And he troubled about nothing 
else whatever. As a matter of fact, the small 
portion at the left-hand top corner represents 
the south coast of England, and the main 


such attempt is made. This map consists of 
eleven sheets, each oblong, so that when all 
were put into their places the world was pre- 
sented as an extremely long slip, measuring 
from east to west more than twenty-one times 
its width from north to south. Even in 
geography's darkest days nobody suggested 
that this was the shape of the earth, and all 
through this curious map (which is extremely 
well executed) no attempt was anywhere 
made to draw any place as it was. The whole 
thing, indeed, was a road map, pure and 
simple, partaking, indeed, of the character of 
a diagram rather than that of a map. An idea 

by Google 

• part of the map is France and round about 
it. Few people would judge so, to look at 
it. The date of this map is considered to 
be no later than the fourth century of the 
Christian era. Its object was to set forth 
the roads throughout the Roman Empire, 
and it seems probable that its extraordinary 
shape was adopted for convenience of con- 
sultation. The whole affair was gaily coloured. 
The history of the map before the year 1507 
is in some doubt. In that year it turned up in 
the possession of one Konrad Celtes, librarian 
to the Emperor Maximilian. Celtes, paying 
a visit to Konrad Peutinger, a scholar of 

Original from 



Augsburg, brought the map with him, much 
to Peutinger's interest and delight. So that 
Celtes left the curiosity to Peutinger in his 
will, and it remained among Peutinger's 
family papers, hidden away and forgotten, 
till long after — till 1714, in fact, when some- 
body found it and sold it to the Austrian 

by the East India Company and several 
English noblemen. It is from this facsimile 
that our photograph is taken. It shows but 
a quarter of the map, the clear reduction of 
the whole to so small a size being impossible. 
This portion contains the British Islands, 
Norway, Sweden, the- Netherlands, and parts 


Emperor. It lies in the Imperial library at 
Vienna now. 

To return, however, to our mediaeval maps. 
The finest of all the maps of this period was 
executed by Fra Mauro, a monk of the Carnal- 
doli, in the year 1459 (No. 8). It is a large 
map, the planisphere occupying a space of 
six feet four inches in diameter, while each 
of the four corners is filled in by a smaller 
circle, each a little less than a foot in 
diameter. One of these represents the 
Ptolemaic system, another shows the moon's 
influence on the tides, a third the circles 
described on the terrestrial globe, and the 
fourth contains a representation of the 
expulsion of Adam and Eve from Eden. In 
the year 1804 an exact facsimile of the 
original map (which is kept at the monastery 
of San Michele di Murano, near Venice) 
was made, the expense being defrayed 

Digitized by G* 

of France and Prussia ; and the circle repre- 
senting Paradise (in a ring fence, with the 
four rivers issuing from the gate) is in the 
corner. This map, it is necessary to re- 
member, is made with the south uppermost, 
consequently it may be necessary to turn it 
upside down before it is observed that the 
outlines of our own country and those of the 
north coast of France are not far out from 
the outlines familiar to our eyes in the maps 
of to day. Denmark is brought rather too 
close to us, and the outlines of Holland, 
Prussia, and Scandinavia might be improved, 
but the map as a whole is a most notable 
advance and a very admirable work. Large 
regular spaces may be observed, which are 
filled with lettering too small to be read on so 
reduced a scale. It is gratifying, neverthe- 
less, to observe that London, although placed 
about where Birmingham should be, is, 
Original from 




nevertheless, re- 
presented by a 
stately building, 
rather like the 
Albert Memo- 

Thirty - three 
years after the 
monk finished 
his great map 
C h r i stopher 
Columbus dis- 
covered Ame- 
rica; and after 
that geographi- 
cal discovery, 
and conse- 
quently map- 
making, moved 
apace, We re- 
produce part of 
a very carefully 
executed map of 
the world, com- 
pleted by Diego 
Ribero for the 
King of Spain in 
1529 (No. 9). 
Here much of 
the American 
coast is shown 
custom now 



with fair accuracy, and the 
adhered to was observed, of 
placing the north uppermost. The original 
map measures a yard from top to bottom, and 
is seven feet two inches from end to end. The 
whole surface of 
the globe was re- 
presented with 
such correctness 
as was possible at 
the time, some- 
what in the way of 
our maps on Mer 
cators projection, 
and the M jlucca 
Islands appeared 
twice, once at each 
end. The elabo 
ration and finish 
ol the map are ap- 
parent every- 
where, as likewise 
Spain, sailing in 
all directions with 
every one. 


a separate fair wind for 
The men and the animals, too, 
indigenous to the various parts, are figured at 
large, many of the most remarkable descrip- 

by Google 

tion. Indeed, it 
was not till long 
after the date of 
this map that 
the belief in the 
curious crea- 
tures shown in 
the early maps 
died ou t. A 
really excellent 
map of South 
America, show- 
ing the whole 
coast, was pre- 
pared under the 
direction of Sir 
Walter Raleigh 
after his return 
from those parts, 
with representa- 
tions of great 
wonders in the 
interior of the 
continent. We 
reproduce an en- 
larged facsimile 
of a group from 
one part of this 
map (No. 10) ; 
and we may add, 
for the benefit of 
any person anxious to make the acquaint- 
ance of the headless gentlemen with faces on 
their chests, that the exact spot of their resi- 
dence is indicated as being at a place between 
the Rio Negro and the Amazon, at about 

sixty-five degrees 
of longitude and a 
degree or so south 
of the Equator. 
Particularly wor- 
thy of notice is the 
plump and con- 
tented expression 
visible on the 
chest of the war- 
rior to theleft. His 
companion, too, 
has a fine shoul- 
der of hair, and 
calves that would 
keep him in a situ- 
ation for ever as a 
footman. Sir Wal- 
ter's map also 
shows a Patagonian (in Patagonia, as is proper) 
by the side of an ordinary man — much to 
the ordinary man's disadvantage, the Pata- 
gonian's height being twelve or fifteen feet. 

Original from 





With this the time of low comedy maps 
drew toward a close. The maps of the six- 
teenth and seventeenth centuries grew year 
by year more accurate and more like those 
familiar in our present atlases. Consequently, 
from the point of view of this article, they 
lose their interest. Curious 
maps, however, are not yet 
altogether things of the 
past. We give a photo- 
graph of a Fijian map (No. 
11) of the world drawn in 
black, brown, and red on 
white tapa, and mounted 
on wooden rollers. The 
world is not so round as it 
might be, and the coun- 
tries shown ("Esia," 
Europe, India, and Africa) 
are considerably simplified 
as to coast-line ; but the 
Atlantic is there — perhaps 
a bit out in its spelling — 
and the " Pasific," and 
no doubt the Fijian was 
pleased with his perform- 
ance. Still, the map can- 
not be conscientiously re- 
commended as a guide for 
accurate sailing. 

China, too, is a country 
where geography is still in 
a primitive state. In the 
Chinese view the world 
consists mainly of China, 


with a fringe of inconsiderable 
places round the edge. In the 
specimen we give (No. 12), China 
occupies the usual proud central 
position, and is something of the 
fantastic shape of a man's head, 
wearing a projecting cap. All down 
the left-hand or western side are 
dotted England, Goa, Holland, Por- 
tugal, Bokhara, Germany, India, and 
France ; all islands, and all of about 
the same insignificant size. Russia 
is up in the north, as is proper ; 
and in the east are Japan, For- 
mosa, Siam, Java, and Burma. 
Africa and America are not invited. 
But the geographer has not forgot- 
ten the part where the inhabitants 
are all dwarfs, and tie themselves 
together in bundles to prevent 
eagles from carrying them 
away ; nor the country where the 
are providentially supplied each 
hole through his chest and back 


with a 

through which a pole may be poked in 

order that two servants, one at each end 

of the pole, may carry him about without 

the expense of a Sedan chair or a cab. 


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Original from 




OOK here ! " said Cyril, sit- 
ting on the dining- table and 
swinging his legs ; " I really 
have got it." 

" Got what ? n was the not 
unnatural rejoinder of the 

" Why, don't you see? It's really not any 
good our going into the past looking for 
that amulet. The past's as full of different 
times as — as — as the sea is of sand. Wexe 
simply bound to hit upon the wrong time. 
We might spend our lives looking for the 
amulet and never see a sight of it. Why, 
it's the end of September already. And — oh, 
bother ! n 

Old nurse had come in with the tray of 
knives, forks, and glasses, and was getting 
the tablecloth and table-napkins out of the 
chiffonier drawer. 

II It's always meal times when you come to 
anything interesting." 

" And a nice interesting handful you'd be, 
Master Cyril," said old nurse, " if I wasn't to 
bring your meals up to time. Don't you begin 
grumbling now, fear you get something to 
grumble at." 

II I wasn't grumbling," said Cyril, quite 
untruly, " but it does always happen like that." 

44 You deserve to have something happen," 



A Story 
for Children, 

y E. Nesrit. 

said old nurse ; " slave, slave, slave for you 
day and night and never a word of thanks." 

" Why, you do everything beautifully," 
said Anthea. 

" It's the first time any of you's troubled 
to say so, anyhow," said nurse, shortly. 

" What's the use of saying?" inquired 
Robert. " We eat our meals fast enough, 
and almost always two helps. That ought to 
show you ! " 

" Ah ! " said old nurse, going round the 
table and putting the knives and forks in 
their places, " you're a man all over, Master 
Robert. There was my poor Green ; all the 
years he lived with me I never could get 
more out of him than, * It's all right ! ' when 
I asked him if he'd fancied his dinner. And 
yet, when he lay a-dying, his last words to 
me was, ' Maria, you was always a good 
cook,' " she ended, with a trembling voice. 

" And so you are," cried Anthea, and she 
and Jane instantly hugged her. 

When she had gone out of the room 
Anthea said : — 

w I know exactly how she feels. Now, 
look here ! Let's do a penance to show we're 
sorry we didn't think about telling her before 
what nice cooking she does and what a dear 
she is." 

" Penances are silly," said Robert. 

" Not if the penance is something to 
please someone else. I didn't mean old 
peas and hair shirts and sleeping on the 
stones. I mean we'll make her a sorry- 
present," explained Anthea. " Look here ! I 
vote Cyril doesn't tell us his idea until we've 
done something for old nurse. It's worse 
for us than him," she added, hastily, " because 
he knows what it is and we don't. Do you 
all agree ? " 

Original from 




The others would have been ashamed not 
to agree, so they did. It was not till quite 
near the end of dinner— mutton fritters and 
blackberry and apple pie — that out of the 
earnest talk of the four came an idea that 
pleased everybody and would, they hoped, 
please nurse. 

Cyril and Robert went out with the taste 
of apple still in their mouths and the purple 
of blackberry on their lips, and, in the case 
of Robert, on the wristband as well, and 
bought a big sheet of cardboard at the 
stationer's. Then at the plumber's shop, that 
has tubes and pipes and taps and gas-fittings 
in the window, they bought a pane of glass 
the same size as the cardboard. 

While they were out the girls had floated 
four photographs of the four children off 
their cards in hot water. These were stuck 
in a row along the top of the cardboard. 
Robert painted a wreath of poppies round 
the photographs. He painted rather well 
and very quickly, and poppies are easy to 
do if you've once been shown how. Then 
Anthea drew some printed letters and Jane 
coloured them, And when the painting was 
dry they all signed their names at the bottom 
and put the glass on, and glued brown paper 
round the edge and over the back, and put 
two loops of tape to hang it up by, 

" There ! * said Anthea, placing it carefully, 
face up, under the sofa, " It'll be hours 
before the glue's dry. Now, 
Squirrel, fire ahead ! w 

"Well, then," said Cyril, 
rubbing at his gluey hands 
with his pocket-handkerchief. 
u What I mean to say is this. 
We can remember now what 
we did when we went 
to look for the amulet. 
And if we'd found it we 
should remember that, 

"Rather!" said 
Robert. "Only, you 
see, we haven't." 

"But in the 
future we shall 

"Shall we, 
though ?" said 

"Yes — unless 
we've been made 
fools of by the 

psammead. So, then, where we want to 
go to is where we shall remember about 
where we did find it." 

VoL xxxL— 29. 

11 1 see," said Robert, but he didn't. 

"I don't," said Anthea, who did, very 
nearly. " Say it again, Squirrel, and very 

" If," said Cyril, very slowly indeed, "we 
go into the future — after we've found the 
amulet- " 

" But we've got to find it first," said Jane. 

" Hush ! " said Anthea. 

"There will be a future," said Cyril, 
driven to greater clearness by the blank faces 
of the other three ; " there will be a time 
after we've found it. Let's go into that time, 
and then we shall remember how we found 
it And then we can go back and do the 
finding, really." 

" I see," said Robert, and this time he 
did, and I hope you do. 

" But will the amulet work both ways ? * 
inquired Robert. 

" It ought to," said Cyril, " if time's only 
a thingummy of whatsitsname. Anyway, we 
might try," 

When everyone was clean and dressed the 
charm was held up. 

" We want to go into the future and see 
the amulet after we've found it," said Cyril, 
and Jane said the word of power. They 
walked through the big arch of the charm 
straight into the British Museum — they knew 
it at once— and there, right in front of them, 
under a glass case, was the amulet — their 

'right in front op them, 
under a glass cask, was 


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Original from 



own half of it, as well as the other half they 
had never been able to find — and the two 
were joined by a pin of red stone that formed 
a hinge. 

"Oh, glorious! " cried Robert. " Here it is." 

" Yes," said Cyril, very gloomily, " here it 
is ; but we can't get it out." 

"No," said Robert, remembering how 
impossible the Queen of Babylon had found 
it to get anything out of the glass cases in the 
Museum ; " no ; but we remember where we 
got it, and we can — — " 

" Oh, do we ? " interrupted Cyril, bitterly. 
" Do you remember where we got it ? " 

" No," said Robert, " I don't exactly, now 
I come to think of it." 

Nor did any of the others. 

" But why can't we ? " said Jane. 

" Oh, / don't know," Cyril's tone was 
impatient. "Some silly old enchanted rule, 
I suppose," 

" Perhaps the Museum people could tell 
us how we got it," 
said Anthea, with 
sudden hope. There 
was no one in the 
room, but in the 
next gallery, where 
the Assyrian things 
are and still were, 
they found a kind 
stout man in a loose 
blue gown and 
stockinged legs. 

"Oh, they've got 
a new uniform ; how 
pretty ! " said Jane. 

When they asked 
him their question 
he showed them a 
label on the case. 
It said, "From the 

collection of ." 

A name followed, 
and it was the name 
of the learned 

" That's not much 
good," said Cyril ; 
"thank you." 

" How is it you're 
not at school?" 
asked the kind man 
in blue. " Not ex- 
pelled for long, I 
hope ? " 

" We're not ex- 
pelled at all," said 
Cyril, rather warmly. 

"Well, I shouldn't do it again, if I were 
you," said the man, and they could see he did 
not believe them. There is no company so 
little pleasing as that of people who do not 
believe you. 

" Thank you for showing us the label," 
said Cyril. And they came away. 

As they came through the doors of the 
Museum they blinked at the sudden glory of 
sunlight and blue sky. The houses opposite 
the Museum were gone. Instead there was 
a big garden, with trees and flowers and 
smooth green lawns, and not a single notice 
to tell you not to walk on the grass and not 
to destroy the trees and shrubs and not to 
pick the flowers. There were comfortable 
seats all about and arbours covered with 
roses, and long trellised walks, also rose- 
covered. Whispering, plashing fountains fell 
into full white marble basins, white statues 
gleamed among the leaves, and the pigeons 
that swept about among the branches or 


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Original from 



pecked on the smooth, soft gravel were not 
black and tumbled like the Museum pigeons 
are now, but bright and clean as birds of new 
silver. A good many people were sitting on 
the seats, and on the grass babies were rolling 
and kicking and playing— with very little on 

" It's like a lovely picture," said Anthea, 
and it was. For the people's clothes were 
of bright, soft colours, and all beautifully 
and very simply made. No one seemed to 
have any hats or bonnets, but there were a 
great many Japanese - looking sunshades. 
And among the trees were hung lamps of 
coloured glass, 

" I expect they light those in the evening," 
said Jane. " I do wish we lived in the 
future ! " 

They walked down the path, and as they 
went the people on the benches looked at 
the four children very curiously, but not 
rudely or unkindly. The children, in their 
turn, looked — I hope they did not stare — at 
the faces of these people in the beautiful, 
soft clothes. Those faces were worth looking 
at. Not that they were all handsome, though 
even in the matter of handsomeness they had 
the advantage of any set of people the 
children had ever seen. But it was the 
expression of their faces that made them 
worth looking at. The children could not 
tell at first what it was. 

"I know," said Anthea, suddenly. 
"They're not worried ; that's what it is." 

And it was. Everybody looked calm, no 
one sfcemed to be in a hurry, no one seemed 
to be anxious or fretted ; and, though some 
did seem to be sad, not a single one looked 

But though the people looked kind, every- 
one looked so interested in the children that 
they began to feel a little shy, and turned out 
of the big main path into a narrow little one 
that wound among trees and shrubs and 
mossy, dripping springs. 

It was here, in a deep shadowed cleft 
between tall cypresses, that they found the 
expelled little boy. He was lying face down 
ward on the mossy turf, and the peculiar 
shaking of his shoulders was a thing they 
had seen more than once in each other. So 
Anthea kneeled down by him and said : — 

"What's the matter?" 

" I'm expelled from school," said the boy 
between his sobs. 

" Do you mind telling us what you'd 

" I — I tore up a sheet of paper and threw 
it about in the playground," said the child, 

by Google 

in the tone of one confessing an unutterable 
baseness. " You won't talk to me any more 
now you know that," he added, without 
looking up. 

" Was that all ? " asked Anthea. 

" It's about enough," said the child, "and 
I'm expelled for the whole day ! " 

" I don't quite understand," said Anthea, 
gently. The boy lifted his face, rolled over, 
and sat up. 

" Why, whoever on earth are you ? " he 

" We're strangers from a far country," said 
Anthea. " In our country it's not a crime to 
leave a bit of paper about." 

"It is here," said the child. "If grown- 
ups do it they're fined. When we do it we're 
expelled for the whole day." 

" Well, but," said Robert, " that just means 
a day's holiday." 

" You must come from a long way off," 
said the little boy. " A holiday's when you 
all have play and treats and jolliness, all of 
you together. On your expelled days no 
one'U speak to you. Everyone sees you're 
an expelleder or you'd be in school." 

" Suppose you were ill ? " 

"Nobody is — hardly. If they are, of 
course they wear the badge, and everyone is 
kind to you. I know a boy that stole his 
sistef's illness badge and wore it when he was 
expelled for a day. He got expelled for a 
week for that. It must be awful not to go to 
school for a week." 

" Do you like school, then ? " asked 
Robert, incredulously. 

" Of course I do. It's the loveliest place 
there is. I chose railways for my special 
subject this year. There are such splendid 
models and things, and now I shall be all 
behind because of that torn-up paper." 

" You choose your own subject ? " asked 

" Yes, of course. Where did you come 
from ? Don't you know anything ? " 

" No," said Jane, definitely ; " so you'd 
better tell us." 

" Well, on Midsummer Day school breaks 
up and everything's decorated with flowers, 
and you choose your special subject for next 
year. Of course, you have to stick to it for 
a year at least. Then there are all your 
other subjects, of course, reading and paint- 
ing, and the rules of citizenship." 

" Good gracious ! " said Anthea. 

" Look here ! " said the child, jumping up ; 
" it's nearly four. The expelledness only lasts 
till then. Come home with me. Mother 
will tell you all about everything." 

Original from 



M Will your mother like you taking home 
strange children ? " asked Anthea. 

M I don't understand," said the child, 
settling his leather belt over his honey-coloured 
smock and stepping on with hard, little, bare 
feet. " Come on." 

So they went. 

The streets were wide and hard and very 
clean. There were no horses, but a sort of 
motor carriage that made no noise. The 
Thames flowed between green banks and 
there were trees at the edge, and people sat 
under them fishing, for 
the stream was as clear 
as crystal. Everywhere 
there were green trees 
and there was no 
smoke. The houses 
were set in what seemed 
like one green garden. 

The little boy brought 
them to a house, 
and at the win- 
dow was a good, 
bright mother- 
face. The little 
boy rushed in, 
and they could 
see him hugging 
his mother, then 
his eager lips 
moving and his 
quick hands 

A lady in soft 
green clothes 
came out, spoke 
kindly to them, 
and took them 
into the oddest house they 
had ever seen. It was very 
bare, there were no orna- 
ments, and yet every single 
thing was beautiful, from the dresser, 
with its rows of bright china, to the 
thick squares of Eastern-looking carpet on 
the floors. I can't describe that house ; I 
haven't the time. And I haven't heart 
either, when I think how different it was 
from our houses, The lady took them all 
over it. The oddest thing of all was the big 
room in the middle. It had padded walls 
and a soft, thick carpet, and all the chairs 
and tables were padded. There wasn't a 
single thing in it that anyone could hurt 
itself with. 

" Whatever's this for — lunatics ? " asked 

The lady looked very shocked. 

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" No ; it's for the children, of course," 
she said. " Don't tell me that in your 
country there are no children's rooms." 

" There are nurseries," said Anthea, doubt- 
fully ; " but the furniture's all cornery and 
hard, like other rooms." 

" How shocking ! " said the lady ; " you 
must be very much behind the times in your 
country. Why, the children are more than 
half of the people ; it's not much to have 
one room where they can have a good time 
and not hurt themselves." 

"But there's no fire- 
place," said Anthea. 

"Hot-air pipes, of 
course," said the lady. 
u Why, how could you 
have a fire ? A child 
might get burned." 

" In our coun- 
try," said Robert, 
suddenly, u more 
than three thou* 
sand children 
are burned to 
death every yfcar. 
Father told me," 
he added, as if 
apologizing for 
this piece of 
i nfor mat ion , 
"once, when I'd 
been playing 
with fire." 

The lady 
turned quite 

" What a fright- 
ful place you 
must live in ! " 
she said. 


the furniture 
padded for?" Anthea asked, hastily turning 
the subject. 

" Why, you couldn't have little tots of 
two or three running about in rooms where 
the things were hard and sharp ! They might 
hurt themselves." 

Robert fingered the scar on his forehead 
where he had hit it against the nursery 
fender when he was little. 

" But does everyone have rooms like this, 
poor people and all ? " asked Anthea. 

" There's a room like this wherever there's 
a child, of course," said the lady. " How 
refreshingly ignorant you are — no, I don't 
mean ignorant, my dear. Of course, you're 
awfully well up in ancient history. But I 

Original from 



see you haven't done your Duties of Citizen 
ship Course yet." 

" But beggars, and people like that," per- 
sisted Anthea, " and tramps and people who 
haven't any homes." 

" People who haven't any homes ? " 
repeated the lady. " I really don't under- 
stand what you're talking about." 

" It's all different in our country," said 
Cyril, carefully, "and I have read that it 
used to be different in London. Usedn't 
people to have no homes and beg because 
they were hungry ? And wasn't London very 
black and dirty once upon a time ? And the 
Thames all muddy and filthy ? And narrow 
streets, and " 

"You must have been reading old-fashioned 
books," said the lady. " Why, all that was in 
the dark ages ! My husband can tell you 
more about it than I can. He took Ancient 
History as one of his special subjects." 

" I haven't seen any working people," said 

"Why, I'm a working person," said the 
lady ; " at least, my husband's a carpenter." 

" Good gracious ! " said Anthea ; " but 
you're a lady ! " 

" Ah ! " said the lady, " that quaint old 
word ! Well, my husband will enjoy a talk 
with you. In the dark ages everyone was 
allowed to have a smoky chimney, and those 
nasty horses all over the streets, and all sorts 
of rubbish thrown into the Thames. And, of 
course, the sufferings of the people will hardly 
bear thinking of. Its very learned of you to 
know about it all. Did you make Ancient 
History your special subject ? " 

" Not exactly," said Cyril, rather uneasily. 
" What is the Duties of Citizenship Course 

" Don't you really know ? Aren't you 
pretending— just for fun ? Really not ? Well, 
that course teaches you how to be a good 
citizen, what you must do and what you 
mayn't do, so as to do your full share of the 
work of making your town a beautiful and 
happy place for people to live in. There's 
a quite simple little thing they teach the 
tiny children. How does it go ? 

I must not steal and I must learn, 
Nothing is mine that I do not earn. 
I must try in work and play 
To make things beautiful every day. 
I must be kind to everyone 
And never let cruel things be done. 
I must be brave and I must try 
When I am hurt never to cry, 
And always laugh as much as I can 
And be glad that I'm going to be a man, 
To work for my living and help the rest, 
And never do less than my very best." 

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" That's very easy," said Jane. " / could 
remember that." 

" That's only the very beginning, of course," 
said the lady ; " there are heaps more rhymes. 
There's the one beginning : — 

I must not litter the beautiful street 
With bits of paper or things to eat ; 
I must not pick the public flowers, 
They are not mine, but they are ours. 

And 'things to eat' reminds me— are you 
hungry? Wells, run and get a tray of nice 

"Why do you call him 4 Wells'?" asked 
Robert, as the boy ran off. 

" It's after the great reformer — surely 
you've heard of him ? He lived in the dark 
ages, and he saw that what you ought to do 
is to find out what you want and then try 
to get it. Up to then people had always 
tried to tinker up what they'd got. We've 
got a great many of the things he thought of. 
Then ' Wells ' means springs of clear water. 
It's a nice name, don't you think ? " 

Here Wells returned with strawberries 
and cakes and lemonade on a tray, and 
everybody ate and enjoyed. 

" Now, Wells," said the lady, " run off or 
you'll be late and not meet your daddy." 

Wells kissed her, waved to the others, and 

" Look here ! " said Anthea, suddenly ; 
" would you like to come to our country and 
see what it's like? It wouldn't take you a 

The lady laughed. But Jane held up the 
charm and said the word. 

" What a splendid conjuring trick ! " cried 
the lady, enchanted with the beautiful grow- 
ing arch. 

" Go through," said Anthea. 

The lady went, laughing. But she did not 
laugh when she found herself, suddenly, in 
the dining-room at Fitzroy Street. 

" Oh, what a horrible trick ! " she cried ; 
" what a hateful, dark, ugly place ! " 

She ran to the window and looked out. 
The sky was grey, the street was foggy, a 
dismal organ-grinder was standing opposite 
the door, a beggar and a man who sold 
matches were quarrelling at the edge of the 
pavement, on whose greasy, black surface 
people hurried along, hastening to get to the 
shelter of their houses. 

"Oh, look at their faces, their horrible 
faces ! " she cried. " What's the matter with 
them all ? " 

"They're poor people, that's all,'' said 

" But it's not all ; they're ill, they're un- 
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happy, they're wicked ! Oh, do stop it, there's 
dear children ! It's very, very clever. Some 
sort of magic-lantern trick, I suppose, like 

I've read of. But do stop it Oh, 
poor, tired, miserable, wicked faces ! " 




were in 

eyes. Anthea 

signed to Jane. 

The arch grew, 

they spoke the words, and pushed the lady 

through it into her own time and place, 

where London is clean and beautiful, and 

the Thames runs clear and bright and the 

green trees grow and no one is afraid, or 

anxious, or in a hurry. 

There was a silence. Then — 
" I'm glad we went," said Anthea, with a 
deep breath. 

" I'll never throw paper about again as 
long as I live," said Robert. 

" Mother always told us not to," said 

" I would like to take up the Duties of 
Citizenship for a special subject," said Cyril. 
" I wonder if father could put me through it ? 
I shall ask him when he comes home." 

" If we'd found the amulet father could be 
home now? said Anthea, u and mother and 
the Lamb." 

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11 Let's go into the future again" suggested 
Jane, brightly. " Perhaps we could remember 
if it wasn't such an awful way off." 

So they did. This time they said, " The 

future, where the amulet is, not so faraway." 

And they went through the 

familiar arch into a large, light room 

with three windows. Facing them 

was the familiar mummy-case, and 

at a table by a window sat the 

learned gentleman. They knew him 

at once, though his hair was white. 

His was one of the faces that do 

change with age. In his hand 

the amulet — complete and 


He rubbed his other hand 
across his forehead in the way 
they were so used to. 

II Dreams, dreams I " he said ; 
" old age is full of them ! " 

" You've been in dreams with 
us before now," said Robert ; 
11 don't you remember ? " 

II I do, indeed," said he. 
The room had many more 
books than the Fitzroy Street 
room, and far more curious 
and wonderful Assyrian and 
Egyptian objects. " The most 
wonderful dreams I ever had, 
had you in them." 

" Where," asked Cyril, "did 
you get that thing in your 
hand ? " 

11 If you weren't just a 

dream," he answered, smiling, 

" you'd remember that you 

gave it to me." 

" But where did we get it ? " Cyril asked, 


" Ah I you never would tell me that," he 
said ; " you always had your little mysteries. 
You dear children ! What a difference you 
made to that old Bloomsbury house! I wish 
I could dream you oftener. Now you're 
grown up you're not like you used to be." 
" Grown up? " said Anthea. 
The learned gentleman pointed to a frame 
with four photographs in it. 
" There you are," he said. 
The children saw four grown-up people's 
portraits— two ladies, , two gentlemen — and 
looked on them with loathing. 

11 Shall we grow up like that ? " whispered 
Jane. " How perfectly horrid ! * 

" If we're ever like that we sha'n't know 
it's horrid, I expect," Anthea, with some 
insight, whispered back. " You see, you get 

Original from 



"at a table by a window sat the learned 

used to yourself while you're changing. It's 
— it's being so sudden makes it seem so 
frightful now," 

The learned gentleman was looking at 
them with wistful kindness. " Don't let me 
undream you just yet," he said. There was 
a pause. 

11 Do you remember when we gave you 
that amulet?" Cyril asked, suddenly. 

11 You know, or you would if you weren't a 
dream, that it was on the third of December, 
1904. I shall never forget that day." 

" Thank you," said Cyril, earnestly ; " oh, 
thank you very much." 

" You've got a new room," said Anthea, 
looking out of the window ; "and what a 
lovely garden ! " 

" Yes," said he ; " I'm too old now to care 
even about being near the Museum. This is 
a beautiful place. Do you know, I can 
hardly believe you're just a dream, you do 
look so exactly real. Do you know " — his 
voice dropped — "I can say it to you, though, 
of course, if I said it to anyone that wasn't a 
dream they'd call me mad — there was some- 
thing about that amulet you gave me — 
something very mysterious." 



" There was that," said Robert. 
" Ah ! I don't mean your 
pretty little childish mysteries 
about where you got it, but 
about the thing itself. First, 
the wonderful dreams I used 
to have after you'd shown me 
the first half of it. Why, my 
book on ' Atlantis ' was the be- 
ginning of my fame and my for- 
tune too. And I got it all 
out of a dream. And then, 
'Britain at the Time of the 
Roman Invasion/ that was 
only a pamphlet, but it ex- 
plained a lot of things people 
hadn't understood." 

"Yes," said Anthea, "it 
" That was the beginning ; but 
after you'd given me the whole of 
the amulet — ah ! it was generous 
of you — then, somehow, I didn't need 
to theorize. I seemed to know about 
the old Egyptian civilization. And 
they can't upset my theories " — he 
rubbed his thin hands and laughed triumph- 
antly — "they can't, though they've tried. 
Theories, they call them, but they're more 
like — I don't know — more like memories. 
I know I'm right about the secret rites 
of the priests of Amen." 

11 Fm so glad you're rich," said Anthea ; 
" you weren't, you know, at Fitzroy Street." 

" Indeed I wasn't," said he, " but I am 
now. This beautiful house and this lovely 
garden — I work in it sometimes. You 
remember you used to tell me to take more 
exercise ? Well, I feel I owe it all to you— 
and the amulet." 

11 I'm so glad," said Anthea, and kissed 
him. He started. 

" That didn't feel like a dream," he said, 
and his voice trembled. 

" It isn't exactly a dream," said Anthea, 
softly ; " it's all part of the amulet— it's a 
sort of extra-special, real dream, dear Jimmy." 
" Ah ! " said he, " when you call me that, 
I know I'm dreaming My little sister — I 
dream of her sometimes. But it's not real like 
this. Do you remember the day I dreamed 
you brought me the Babylonish ring?" 

" We remember it all," said Robert. " Did 
you leave Fitzroy Street because you were 
too rich for it ? " 

" Oh, no," he said, reproachfully. " You 
know I should never have done such a thing 
as that Of course, I left when your old 
nurse died, and— — what's the matter ? " 

Original from 






"Old nurse dead?" said Anthea ; " oh, 
no I " 

11 Yes, yes ; it's the common lot. It's a 
long time ago now." 

Jane held up the amulet in a hand that 

"Come!" she cried; "oh, come home! 
She may be dead before we get there, and 
then we can't give it to her. Oh, come ! " 

" Ah ! don't let the dream end now ! " 
pleaded the learned gentleman. 

" It must," said Anthea, firmly, and kissed 
him again. 

" When it comes to people dying," said 
Robert. "Good-bye! I'm so glad you're 
rich and famous and happy." 

" Do come ! " cried Jane, stamping in 
agony of impatience. 

And they went. Old nurse brought 
tea almost as soon as they were back 
Fitzroy Street. As she came in 
with the tray the girls rushed at 
her and nearly upset her and it 

" Don't die ! » cried Jane ; 
"oh, don't!" And Anthea 
cried, " Dear, ducky, darling old 
nurse, don't die ! " 

" Lord love you ! " 
said nurse, " I'm not 
a-going to die yet 
awhile, please Heaven. 
Whatever on earth's 
the matter with the 

"Nothing. Only 
don't ! " 

She put the tray 
down and hugged the 
girls in turn. The 
boys thumped her on 
the back with heartfelt 

" I'm as well as ever 
I was in my life," she 
said. " What nonsense 
about dying ! You've 
been a-setting too long 
in the dusk, that's 
what it is. Regular 
blind man's holiday. 
Leave go of me while 
I light the gas." 

The yellow light 
illuminated four pale faces. 

" We do love you so," Anthea went on, 
" and we've made you a picture to show you 
how we love you. Get it out, Squirrel." 


The glazed testimonial was dragged out 
from under the sofa and displayed. 

"The glue's not dry yet," said Cyril; 
11 look out ! " 

" W hat a beauty ! " cried old nurse. 
"Well, I never! And your pictures and the 
beautiful writing and all. Well, I always did 
say your hearts was in the right place, if a bit 
careless at times. Well, I never did ! I don't 
know as I was ever better pleased in my life." 

She hugged them all one after the other, 
and the boys did not mind it, somehow, that 

" How is it we can remember all about the 
future now ? " Anthea woke the psammead 
with laborious gentleness to put the question. 
" How is it we can remember what we 
saw in the future, and yet, when we were in 
the future, we couldn't remember the bit of 
the future that was past 
then, the time of finding 
the amulet ? " 

11 Why, what a silly 
question ! " said the psam- 
mead. "Of course you 
cannot remember what 
hasn't happened yet." 

" But the future hasn't 
happened yet," Anthea 
persisted, " and we remem- 
ber that all right." 

"Oh, that isn't what's 
happened, my good 
child," said the psam- 
mead, crossly ; " that's 
prophetic vision. And 
you remember dreams, 
don't you? So why 
not visions? You 
never do seem to under- 
stand the simplest 

It went to sand 
again at once. 

Anthea crept down 
in her nightgown to 
give one last kiss to 
old nurse and one 
last look at the beauti- 
ful testimonial hang- 
ing by its tapes, its 
glue now firmly set, in 
glazed glory on the wall of the kitchen. 

"Good night, bless your loving heart," 
said old nurse. " If only you don't catch 
your deathercold ! " 

*~k ft- *** 

, v <r 

(To be continued) 

by Google 

Original from 

The Most Wonderful Dam in the World 

By Orrin E. Dunlap. 

ANY great and wonderful dams 
have been built in the world, 
but none of them is more 
remarkable than a dam that 
has place near the brink of 
the Horseshoe Fall, on the 
Canadian side of the river, at Niagara Falls. 
Not only is this dam remarkable for its loca- 
tion, but the man- 
ner in which it was 
built is all the 
more strange, 
and it is the first 
dam of the kind 
ever built. 

The object of 
the dam is to in- 
crease the depth 
of water in the 
joint intake of 
the City of Nia- 
gara Falls, Ont., 
and the Niagara 
Falls Park and 
River Railway. 
The former ob- 
tains its munici- 
pal water supply 
from the intake, 
and on occasions 
of low water has 
been forced to 
have the City of 
Niagara Falls, 
N.Y., furnish it 
with water for fire 
and domestic 
purposes by lines 
of fire lio s e 
stretched over the 
lower steel arch 
bridge. When low 
water prevailed 
the Niagara Falls Park and River Railway 
Company could not operate its turbines for 
the development of power, and was forced to 
get a supply of electricity from other sources. 
These conditions led to complaints being 
made to the commissioners of Victoria Park, 
who control the river frontage on the Canadian 

igiiiz&d by ^OOQIC 



From a Photograph. 

side at Niagara, that the construction works 
for the big power development had resulted 
in lowering the water in the joint intake. 

In search of a measure of relief, the com- 
missioners of Victoria Park called Engineer 
Isham Randolph, of Chicago, 111., into 
consultation, and he recommended the con- 
struction of a dam. The site, however, was so 

very close to the 
brin k of the 
Horseshoe Fall 
that Engineer 
Randolph recog- 
nised that the 
usual methods of 
dam construction 
were not advis- 
able to adopt. The 
intake is less than 
six hundred feet 
from the brink of 
death. The rapids 
toss and the cur- 
rent rushes 
swiftly by in wild 
tumult and hurry 
over the preci- 
pice. It was im- 
possible to even 
ascertain the 
exact depth of 
water where it 
was deemed ad- 
visable to locate 
the dam in order 
that it might stop 
a portion of the 
Niagara flood and 
back it up into 
the intake. 

Under these 
Engineer Ran- 
dolph, who is consulting engineer of the 
Chicago Drainage Canal, advocated the 
erection of a column of concrete on the river 
bank, to be tipped over into the stream to 
form the desired dam. The park commis- 
sioners acted upon his advice, and built a 
concrete column fifty feet high and seven feet 





From a Photograph. 

broken sections close to- 

By Thursday, Novem- 
ber 9th, the column was 
pronounced quite dry, 
and that afternoon it was 
tipped into the river. 
More than one thousand 
persons gathered to wit- 
ness the event. Many of 
them were engineers, who 
desired to see the work- 
ings of the novel method 
in dam construction. All 
kinds of bets were made 
as to how the column 
would fall, some think- 
ing it would buckle at the 
centre. Three hydraulic 
jacks were placed under 
timbers at the base of the 
trestle, the timbers being 
about eighteen feet long. 
Inch by inch the jacks 
were elevated, but for the 
first few inches the 
column showed no signs 
of changing position, 
no doubt owing to the 

four inches square. It was erected on 
top of a wooden trestle twenty feet 
above the ground level, so that when it 
should fall the trestle would toss it out 
from shore to leave an ice run between 
the inner end of the dam and the river 
bank. The column was built within 
wooden frames, which were removed 
after all the material was in place, so as 
to allow the column to dry good and 
hard in the sun and wind previous to 
being tipped over. The concrete mix- 
ture of this giant column was made of 
one part cement, three parts sand, and 
five parts stone. Every eight feet in 
the height of the column a wooden 
wedge was inserted in one side and 
extended to the centre, these wedges 
being twelve inches thick on the out- 
side and tapering to six inches at the 
inner end. Their purpose was to break 
the column into six sections when it 
fell, but no chance was taken of the 
river currents sweeping the broken 
sections over the Horseshoe, for up 
through the centre of the column 
a great strong chain w T as run, 
and this was designed to hold the 

by Google 


From a Photepraph, 



2 35 

From a} 



spring in the timber work. Finally, how- 
ever, as the jacks were elevated, the great 
column was seen to leave the perpendicular, 
and then the crowd became anxious and 
excited. Higher, higher went the jacks ; 
over, over went the column. When the 
jacks had been raised r.bout fifteen inches 
the column toppled over and went down with 
a mighty rush. There was a big splash. 
The crowd cheered. As the river attained 
its normal condition the dam was seen well 

out from shore, but it was not level. The 
centre sections had struck a boulder or 
uneven portion of the river bed and were 
tossed up higher than expected. The flood 
of water that came down-stream struck the 
dam and was held back. It rushed into the 
intake, where the depth was increased ten 
and a half inches, nearly all that was 
expected, and which depth it is believed will 
be sufficient to meet the demands made on 
the intake, for the present at least. 

Prom a] 



Original from 



Copyright, 1906, by George Newnes, Limited. 
\}Ve shall be glad to receive Contributions to this section, and to pay for such as are accepted] 

"Perhaps some Strand 
reader might state the origin of 
the strange figure of which I send 
a photograph. It was bought 
at a sale of old household furni- 
ture some five years ago, and 
came into my possession three 
years since. One curio-collector 
offered me a tempting price for 
it. What it is I don't know ; 
but most people seem to think 
it is an Indian god. It is carved 
in wood and covered with some 
kind of composition, and every 
detail is most realistic and un- 
canny. The original stands 
about two feet in height . The 
photograph was taken by Mr. 
J. Bontoft, Ilkley." — Mr. 
Fred. S. HUlman, Lymeholme, 
Addingham, Yorks. 

11 In some museums an egg 
within an egg is a novelty ex- 
hibited, and, as a parallel to 

too high for the low cottage 
roof, was the unwitting cause 
of a bomb outrage in May- 
fair about seven years ago. 
The gentleman who owns it 
saw a similar one sold in an 
auction -room one day, but was 
too late to secure it. The 
auctioneer told him there was 
another at an address in Blooms- 
bury. He at once went there, 
and the door was opened by a 
shabby old woman. On stating 
his errand he was taken in, and 
she locked the door behind 
him. A long passage was tra- 
versed, and the old woman 
knocked three times on another 
locked door. A foreign-look- 
ing man opened it, and in the 
room was this cabinet, with a 
smaller one. He had made 
them entirely himself, but did 
not do so for a living — only 
when he wanted money. A 
price was agreed on, ami that 
night the cabinet was brought 
round by the man. The money 
was on the table wailing for 
him, but before he left the new owner asked if he would find 
him at that address in case he wanted another. 4 No,* the 
man said, ' I shall not be there again. I make these when 
I want money for a particular purpose, and by this 
time to-morrow you will know what that purpose is.' 
4 Why, you must be an Anarchist, 1 said the gentleman ; 
whereupon the man seized the money and lx>lted. \ext 
day the public was startled by the news of a bomb out- 
rage ; but little damage was done. The money was to 
enable the Anarchists to gel clear away to the Continent." — 
Mrs. H. E. Adam, 20, Cardcn Place, Aberdeen. 

such freaks of Nature, this photograph 
shows an example from the vegetable 
world — an orange within an orange. The 
fruit, before the rind was removed, was 
apparently an ordinary Jaffa orange, except- 
ing that it was slightly more lemon-shaped 
than the average type. On removing the peel, 
however, a small but perfect orange w r as 
found nestling at one end where the divisions 
of the fruit separate. The photograph shows 
the fruit with two-thirds of the rind removed 
to reveal the complete small orange at the 
base." — Mr. John). Ward, Kusinurbe House, 
Somerset Road, Coventry. 

14 This ebony cabinet, beautifully carved, 
Of which only the top half is seen, as, it is , 

Digitized by Google 



2 37 


"A large subsidence of cliffs at Odessa, Russia, 
necessitated the removal of a factory, and in its place 
a villa residence was built, half only of the chimney- 

shaft being demolished. The remainder was trans- 
formed into a five-storey summer-house, the stairway 
of which is in the original shaft. The beauty of 
workmanship is quite exceptional for 
Russia, it even being fitted with a tele- 
phone. Placed as it is within a few yards 
of the high cliffs, it commands a magnifi- 
cent outlook over the town and the Black 
Sea."— Mr. Oscar Steffen, 55, Welling- 
ton Road, Wanstead, Essex. 

Our readers will remember that in the 
issue of this Magazine for November, 
1905, a photograph of a dog appeared. The 
sender of the photograph wanted to know 
whether any dog expert could give a satisfac- 
tory explanation for the dog's strange habit 
of placing his head within any conveniently 
handy receptacle. The following ingenious 
explanation is sent by a correspondent who 
prefers to remain anonymous: "Having 
owned several dogs of the kind pictured in 
your issue of November last, I beg to 
submit an explanation of his peculiar 
'craze.' They are all strange 'beasties,' 
but very lovable, very faithful, and their 
eyesight is almost always defective. One 

I owned had one eye much larger than the other, and 
stumbled over every article of furniture ; one was a 
superb ratter, a valuable ally in the stables, but not a 
mouser. She could not see the mice in time to act, 
but showed wonderful strategy in cutting a rat off at 
an angle, afterwards guarding the ghastly thing with 
her sharp teL-th from the other dogs (and humans) till 
she could lay it at my feet ! I have known several 
dogs to go blind from having the hair cut from before 
their eyes — * banged,' so to speak. When our eyes 
ache we darken our rooms for relief. Is it not pos- 
sible that this doggie's eyes ache, and he seeks a 
place where he can find relief in almost total dark- 
ness, whilst getting enough air to breathe through 
the spout of the pitcher?? 


" I send you a snapshot of a head-on collision 
between a passenger train hauled by two engines and a 
goods train. This picture was taken a few seconds 
after the impact, and shows the fireman and engine- 
driver escaping from the cab window. One of the 
engine-drivers was killed." — Mr. B. W. Stevens, 
Pinole, California. 

by Google 

iginal tram 

2 3 8 


11 I send you a photograph of the Brazilian lantern- 
fly, a very mysterious creature. It will be seen that 
the head is projected forward in a great bladder-like 
In be as long as the insect's body. It used to be 
thought that this strange projection was luminous at 
night, and hence the name * lantern-fly.' I believe, 
however, that the observations of naturalists in recent 
years have entirely disproved this idea. And what 
purpose the extraordinary prolongation of the head 
may serve is most mysterious/ 1 — Mr. Percy Collins, 
The Hatherley Rooms, Reading, 


" What docs this picture represent ? A curious 
German contrivance, combining pleasure witli busi- 
ness. The strange-looking wall on the right, but- 
tressed by the slants of timber on the left, is an 
enormous hedge, several yards in thickness, thirty feet 
high, and many hundred yards in length, composed 
of faggots of twigs. It is to be found beside the salt 
springs on the outskirts of Bad Nauheim, in Germany. 
The water from this spring is carried to the top of 
the hedge, whence it dribbles through the twigs, into 

"But few people have probably heard of a band- 
stand made of the stump of a single tree, but sucli 
a curiosity exists at Chehalis, Washington, and the 
village band on summer evenings plays on this unique 
stump, which has an added historic interest from the 
fact that Presidents Mc Kin ley and Roosevelt have 
each delivered speeches from it. It stands near the 
village station, and when on his Western tour, 
President Mc Kin ley was induced to make his address 

standing on this huge block of wood. When 
President Roosevelt reached the coast on his 
trip across ihe continent, he also was asked 
to mount this stump and address the citizens 
of the town while his train stopped at Che- 
halis. This he obligingly did, and the towns- 
people erected a band-stand over it, the stump 
serving as the floor. This unique band-stand 
will seat twelve people, has a diameter of eight 
and one-third feet at the top, and of twelve 
and a half feet at the base. By counting the 
rin^s in the tree, it was calculated that the 
stump must have been at least three hundred 
and sixty years old.''— Mr. C. A. Williams, 
Milwaukie, R.F.D. No. i, Oregon. 

the reservoir beneath — evaporating as it falls, 
and thus increasing the percentage of salt in 
the water that remains— the operation form- 
ing one step in the process of extracting 
the salt from the water. The air which 
circulates through this dripping erection 
become extraordinarily chilled, and during 
the heat of the summer many of Nauheim's 
visitors are to be found about the seals and 
gangway* creeled for their benefit along the 
whole length of the reser\oir, enjoying this 
remarkable substitute for a cool and fresh sea 
breeze. The second photograph shows a 
section of the construction from another 
point of view." — Mr. J. II. Willis, South- 
well Lodge, Norwich. 

by Google 

Original from 



sea and miraculously saved by swimming until a boat 
look him up. He lived many years after in great 
reputation, l>eloved by all that knew him and much 
lamented at his death.' " — Sergeant Gilbert, Sergeants' 
Mess, Royal Garrison Artillery, Weymouth. 

** This is a photograph of our gardener as he 


** I send you a photo, of one of the most striking 
features of Gardner's recent Labour Day parade, 
representing the Derby chair factory, by whom it was 
presented to the town, and now stands on the lawn 
of the railway station here, an object of much interest 
and a fitting advertisement of what is said to be the 
largest chair-manufacturing town in the world. The 
chair weighs twelve hundred pounds, is five and a 
half feet square at the base, twelve feet high, and six 
hundred feet of lumber were used in its construction." 
— Mr. Chas. Stansfield, Gardner, Mass. 


" The inscrip- 
tion on the stone 
shown in the 
photograph is as 
follows : ' Here 
lies the body of 
Lewis Galdye, 
who departed this 
life at Fort Royal 
the 22nd of Decem- 
ber! 1739, aged 80. 
He was born 
at Montpelier, in 
France, but left 
that country for 
his religion and 
came to settle in 
this island, where 
he was swallowed 
up in the great 
earthquake in the 
year 1692, and 
by the providence 
of God was by 
another shock 
thrown into the 

appeared at the 
Mentone Battle 
of Flowers. He 
constructed the 
entire costume 
himself out of 
leaves and 
flowers, which 
he carefully 
sewed on to an old 
suit. The founda- 
tion for the elegant 
parasol, which he 
carried in the pro- 
cession, was bor- 
rowed from his 
wife's wardrobe, 
and the 'hat' 
was a flower- pot 
with the bottom 
cut out. I am 
pleased lo say 
that his patience 
and ingenuity 
were rewarded 
with a first prize." 
— Miss G . R . 
Prince -Stevenson, 
45, Norton Road, 
Hove, Sussex. 







* * The photograph I 
send you shows what 
must be the smallest 
potted plants in the 
world. They are 
miniature cacti, well 
rooted and growing 
plants, A good idea 
of their actual size 
may be obtained from 
comparison with the 
thimble. These tiny 
plants are collected by 
German ladies." — Mr. 
S, Leonard Bastin, Ivy House, New Road, Reading. 

"A superficial glance at the photo, below might reveal 
nothing extraordinary with regard to the branch of elder 
tree depicted upon it. If it is looked at closely, though, it 
will be seen that there is only one strong twig of the branch, 
and that the other seeming twigs are six caterpillars resting 
in stick-like attitudes. The central larva, it should be 
observed, bears one of its fellows standing on its back. 
These are the caterpillars of the swallow-tail moth, which 

is a common insect in the Brhish Isles, 
and during the day-time they assume 
these rigid and stick -like attitudes as 
a means of disguise from their enemies. 
As night comes on, and their foes be- 
come less numerous, they regain their 
activity and commence to feed." — Mr. 
John J. Ward, Rusinurbe House, 
Somerset Road, Coventry, 


'* The photograph I send 
you depicts a curious mode of 
earning one's living. It is a 
view of a cottage in Two 
Dales, Derbyshire, inhabited 
by two old men, who colour- 
wash the outside and draw 
these queer figures with an 
inscription, * Please leave a 
copper.' Inside there is no 
furniture whatever ; for they 
are truly 'squatters/ taking 
their meals in the lowly but 



i uncomfortable position of sitting on the floor." — 
Mr. R. E. Crofts, 3, Eggington Street, St. Peter's 

Road, Leicester. 

lt When my brother Harry was about ten years 
of age he was playing in the garden at my home 
in Towcester, Northamptonshire, when suddenly 
my mother heard him scream out and, running to 
him, found blood oozing out of his boot. 
When we removed his boot a bullet 
dropped out, and my mother found his 
lot- smashed and the boot covered with 
»lood. On looking around to find out 
w the mysterious accident occurred, 
my mother found a rook's claw. It ap- 
pears a party of gentlemen were 
out shooting in a wood about two 
or three hundred yards away 
from our home, on the borders 
of the estate of Sir T. Hes- 
keth, EastonNeston, Towces- 
ter, and it must have been a 
shot fired by one of the sports- 
men which carried the bullet 
and the rook's clawattached to 
it by one of the sinews. When 
the bullet struck the boot it 
must have forced the claw off. 
The most extraordinary thing 
is how the bullet carried such a 
distance and with such force," 
— Mr. Snedker, The Rowans, 
I Woodhey, Rock Ferry. 

>iqmal from 



(See page 251.) 

by Google 

Original from- 

The Strand Magazine. 

Vol. xxxi. 

MARCH, 1906. 

No. 183 


' %^ 


3 \J- 



HE KING and his attendants 
had shaken off the crowd who 
had followed them from Guild- 
ford along the Pilgrims' Way, 
and now, the mounted archers 
having beaten off the more 
persistent of the spectators, they rode at their 
ease in a long, straggling, glittering train over 
the dark, undulating plain of heather. 

In the van was the King himself, for his 
hawks were with him, and he had some hope 
of sport. Edward, at that time, was a well- 
grown, vigorous man in the very prime of his 
years, a keen sportsman, an ardent, gallant, 
and a chivalrous soldier. He was a scholar too, 
speaking Latin, French, German, Spanish, and 
even a little English. So much had long been 
patent to the world, but only of recent years 
had he shown other and 
more formidable character- 
istics — a restless ambition 
which coveted his neigh* 
hour's throne, and a wise 
foresight in matters of 
commerce, which engaged 
him now in transplanting 
Flemish weavers, and sow- 
ing the seeds of what 
for many years was the 
staple trade of England. 
Each of these varied 
qualities might have been 
read upon his face. The 
brow, shaded by a crimson 
cap of maintenance, was 
broad and lofty. The 
large brown eyes were 
ardent and bold. His 
chin was clean - shaven, 
and the close crapped dark 
moustache did not conceal 
the strong mouth, firm, 
proud, and kindly, but 
capable of setting tight in 
merciless ferocity. His 

Vol. xxxi.— 31 Copyrij 

complexion was tanned to copper by a life 
spent in field sports or in war, and he rode 
his magnificent black horse carelessly and 
easily, as one who has grown up in the saddle. 
His own colour was black also, for his active, 
sinewy figure was set off by close-fitting 
velvet of that hue, broken only by a belt of 
gold and by a golden border of open pods 
of the broom plant. With his high and noble 
bearing, his simple yet rich attire, and his splen- 
did mount, he 

looked every **^BL 

inch a king. ^Tft\ 

The picture of ML^^ 

gallant man on ^Jjr \ 

gallant horse ">* 

was completed 
by the noble 
Falcon of the 
Isles, which 
fluttered along 


pyright, 1906, by A. 

Conan Doyle, in the United^^p,y)T ftpyp ' jip u 




some twelve feet above his head, u waiting 
on," as it was termed, for any quarry which 
might arise. The second bird of the cast 
was borne upon the gauntleted wrist of Raoul, 
the chief falconer, in the rear. 

At the right side of the monarch and a 
little behind him rode a youth some twenty 
years of age, tall, slim, and dark, with noble 
aquiline features and keen, penetrating eyes, 
which sparkled with vivacity and affection as 
he answered the remarks of the King. He 
was clad in deep crimson diapered with gold, 
and the trappings of his white palfrey were of 
a magnificence which proclaimed the rank 
of its rider. On his face, still free from 
moustache or beard, there sat a certain 
gravity and 
majesty of ex- 
pression which 
showed that, 
young as he was, 
great affairs had 
been in his keep- 
ing, and that his 
thoughts and 
interests were 
those of the 
statesman and 
the warrior. 
That great day 
when, little 
more than a 
schoolboy, he 
had led the van 
of the victorious 
army which had 
crushed the 
power of France 
at Crecy had 
left this stamp 
upon his fea- 
tures ; but stern 
as they were 
they had not 
assumed that 
tinge of fierce- 
ness which in 
after years was 
to make "The Black Prince" a name of 
terror on the marches of France. Not yet 
had the first shadow of fell disease come to 
poison his nature ere it struck at his life as 
he rode that spring day, light and debonair, 
upon the Heath of Crooksbury. 

On the left of the King, and so near to 
him that great intimacy was implied, rode a 
man about his own age, with the broad face, 
the projecting jaw, and the flattish nose 
which are often the outward indications of 

Digitized by C-OOQ I C 


a pugnacious nature. His complexion was 
crimson, his large blue eyes somewhat promi- 
nent, and his whole appearance full-blooded 
and choleric. He was short, but very 
massively built, and evidently possessed of 
immense strength. His voice, however, when 
he spoke was very gentle and lisping, while 
his manner was quiet and courteous. Unlike 
the King or the Prince, he was clad in 
light armour, and carried a sword by his 
side and a mace at his saddle-bow, for 
he was acting as captain of the King's 
Guard, and a dozen other knights in steel 
followed in the escort. No hardier soldier 
could Edward have at his side if, as was 
always possible in those lawless times, sudden 

danger were to 
threaten: for 
this was the 
famous Knight 
of Hainault, 
now naturalized 
as an English- 
man, Sir Walter 
Manny, who 
bore as high a 
reputation for 
valour and for 
gallant temerity 
as Chandos him- 
self. Behind 
the knights, 
who were for- 
bidden to scat- 
ter and must 
always follow 
the King's per- 
son, there was 
a body of twenty 
or thirty hobe- 
lers, or mounted 
bowmen, to- 
gether with 
several squires, 
unarmed them- 
selves, but lead- 
ing spare horses 
upon which the heavier part of their knights' 
equipment was carried. A straggling tail of 
falconers, harbingers, varlets, body-servants, 
and huntsmen holding hounds in leash com- 
pleted the long and many-coloured train 
which rose and dipped on the low undula- 
tions of the moor. 

Many weighty things were on the mind of 
Edward the King. There was truce for the 
moment with France, but it was a truce 
broken by many small deeds of arms, raids, 




surprises, and ambushes upon either side, 
and it was certain that it would soon dissolve 
again into open war. Money must be raised, 
and it was no light matter to raise it now that 
the Commons had once already voted the 
tenth lamb and the tenth sheaf. Besides, 
the Black Death had ruined the country, the 
arable land was all turned to pasture, the 
labourer, laughing At statutes, would not 
work under fourpence a day, and all society 
was chaos. In addition the Scotch were 
growling over the border, there was the 
perennial trouble in half- conquered Ire- 
land, and his allies abroad in Flanders and 
in Brabant were clamouring for the arrears 
of their subsidies. All this was enough to 
make even a victorious monarch full of care. 
But now Edward had thrown it all to the 
winds, and was as light-hearted as a boy 
upon a holiday. No thought had he for 
the dunning of Florentine bankers or the 
vexatious conditions of those busybodies at 
Westminster. He was out with his hawks, 
and his thoughts and his talk should be of 
nothing else. The varlets beat the heather 
and bushes as they passed and whooped 
loudly as the birds flew out. 

" A magpie ! A magpie ! " cried the 

" Nay, nay, it is not worthy of your talons, 
my brown-eyed queen," said the King, look- 
ing up at the great bird which flapped from 
side to side above his head, waiting for the 
whistle which should give her the signal. 
" The tiercels, falconer — a cast of tiercels ! 
Quick, man, quick ! Ha ! the rascal makes 
for wood ! He puts in ! Well flown, brave 
peregrine ! He makes his point. Drive 
him out to thy comrade. Serve him, 
varlets ! Beat the bushes ! He breaks ! 
He breaks ! Nay, come away, then ! You 
will see Master Magpie no more." 

The bird had, indeed, with the cunning of 
his race, flapped its way through brushwood 
and bushes to the thicker woods beyond, so 
that neither the hawk amid the cover, nor its 
partner above, nor the clamorous beaters 
could harm it. The King laughed at the 
mischance and rode on. Continually birds 
of various sorts were flushed, and each was 
pursued by the appropriate hawk — the snipe 
by the tiercel, the partridge by the goshawk, 
even the lark by the little merlin. But the 
King soon tired of this petty sport, and went 
slowly on his way, still with the magnificent 
silent attendant flapping above his head. 

" Is she not a noble bird, fair son ? " he 
asked, glancing up as her shadow fell upon 

by L^OOgle 

" She is indeed, sire. Surelv no finer ever 
came from the Isles of the North." 

" Perhaps not, and yet I have had a hawk 
from Barbary as good a footer and a swifter 
flyer. An Eastern bird in yarak has no 

" I had one once from the Holy Land," 
said Manny. " It was fierce and keen and 
swift as the Saracens themselves. They 
say of old Saladin that in his day his breed 
both of birds, of hounds, and of horses had 
no equal on earth." 

" I trust, dear father, that the day may 
come when we shall lay our hands on all 
three," said the Prince, looking with shining 
eyes upon the King. " Is the Holy Land to 
lie for ever in the grasp of these unbelieving 
savages, or the Holy Temple to be defiled by 
their foul presence ? Ah ! my dear and most 
sweet lord, give to me a thousand lances with 
ten thousand bowmen like those I led at 
Cr£cy, and I swear to you, by God's soul, 
that within a year I will have done homage 
to you for the Kingdom of Jerusalem." 

The King laughed as he turned to Walter 

" Boys will still be boys," said he. 

" The French do not count me such ! " 
cried the young Prince, flushing with anger. 

" Nay, fair son, there is no one sets you at 
a higher rate than your father. But you have 
the nimble mind and quick fancy of youth, 
turning ever from the thing that is half done 
to a farther task beyond. How would we 
fare in Brittany and Normandy whilst my 
young Paladin with his lances and his bow- 
men was besieging Ascalon or battering at 
Jerusalem ? " 

" Heaven would help in Heaven's w r ork." 

" From what I have heard of the past," 
said the King, dryly, " I cannot see that 
Heaven has counted for much as an ally 
in these wars of the East. I speak with 
> reverence, and yet it is but sooth to say that 
Richard of the Lion Heart or Louis of 
France might have found the smallest earthly 
principality of greater service to him than all 
the celestial hosts. How say you to that, 
my Lord Bishop ? " 

A stout Churchman, who had ridden be- 
hind the King on a solid bay cob well suited 
to his weight and dignity, jogged up to the 
monarch's elbow. 

" How say you, sire ? I was watching the 
goshawk on the partridge and heard you 

" Had I said that I would add two manors 
to the See of Chichester I warrant that you 
would have heard me, my Lord Bishop." 




" Nay, fair lord, test the matter by saying 
so," cried the jovial Bishop. The King 
laughed aloud* 

" A fair counter, your reverence. By the 
rood, you broke your lance that passage. 
But the question I debated was this. How 
is it that, since the Crusades have manifestly 
been fought in God's quarrel, we Christians 
have had so little comfort or support in 
fighting them ? After all our efforts and the 
loss of more men than could be counted, we 
are at last driven from the country, and even 
the military orders, which were formed only 
for that one purpose, can scarce hold a foot- 
ing in the islands of the Greek sea. There 
is not one seaport nor one fortress in Palestine 
over which the flag of the Cross still waves. 
Where, then, was our Ally?" 

"Nay, sire, you open a great debate which 
extends far beyond this question of the Holy 
Land, though that may indeed be chosen 
as a fair example. It is the question of all 
sin, of all suffering, of all injustice — why it 
should pass without the rain of fire and the 
lightnings of Sinai. The wisdom of God is 
beyond our understanding." 

The King shrugged his shoulders. 

"This is an easy answer, my Lord Bishop. 
You are a Prince of the Church. It would 
fare ill with an earthly prince who could give 
no better answers to the affairs which con- 
cerned his realm." 

"There are other considerations which 

Digitized by GoOQ I C 


might be urged, most gracious sire. It is 
true that the Crusades were a holy enter- 
prise, which might well expect the immediate 
blessing of God ; but the Crusaders— is it 
certain that they deserved such a blessing? 
Have I not heard that their camp was the 
most dissolute ever seen ? " 

" Camps are camps all the world over, and 
you cannot in a moment change a bowman 
into a saint. But the Holy Louis was a 
Crusader after your own heart. Yet his men 
perished at Mansourah and he himself at 

11 Bethink you also that this world is but 
the antechamber of the next," said the 
prelate. " By suffering and tribulation the 
soul is cleansed, and the true victor mav be 
he who, by the patient endurance of misfor- 
tune, merits the happiness to come." 
Original from 



"If that be the true meaning of the 
Church's blessing, then I hope that it will be 
long before it rests upon our banners in 
France," said the King. " But methinks 
that when one is out with a brave horse and 
a good hound one might find some other 
subject than theology. Back to the birds, 
Bishop, or Raoul the falconer will come to 
interrupt thee in thy cathedral." 

Straightway the conversation came back 
to the mystery of the woods and the mystery 
of the rivers, to the dark -eyed hawks and 
the yellow-eyed, to hawks of the lure and 
hawks of the fist. The Bishop was as steeped 
in the lore of falconry as the King, and the 
others smiled as the two wrangled hard over 
disputed and technical questions — if an eyas 
trained in the mews can ever emulate the 
passage-hawk taken wild, or how long the 
young hawks should be placed at hack, and 
how long weathered before they are fully 

Monarch and prelate were still deep in 
this learned discussion, the Bishop speaking 
with a freedom and assurance which he would 
never have dared to use in affairs of Church 
and State, for in all ages there is no such 
leveller as sport. Suddenly, howevei, the 
Prince, whose keen eyes had swept from time 
to time over the great blue heaven, uttered 
a peculiar call and reined up his palfrey, 
pointing at the same time into the air. 

" A heron ! " he cried. " A heron on 
passage ! " 

To gain the full sport of hawking a heron 
must not be put up from its feeding-ground, 
where it is heavy with its meal, and has no 
time to get its pace on before it is pounced 
upon by the more active hawk, but it must be 
aloft, travelling from point to point, probably 
from the fish-stream to the heronry. Thus 
to catch the bird on passage was the prelude 
of all good sport The object to which the 
Prince had pointed was but a black dot in 
the southern sky, but his trained eyes had 
not deceived him, and both Bishop and 
King agreed that it was indeed a heron, 
which grew larger every instant as it flew in 
their direction. 

" Whistle him off, sire ! Whistle off the 
gerfalcon ! " cried the Bishop. 

" Nay, nay ; he is over far. She would fly 
at check." 

" Now, sire, now ! " cried 4he Prince, as the 
great bird, with the breeze behind him, came 
sweeping down the sky. 

The King gave a shrill whistle, and the 
well-trained hawk raked out to right and to 
left to make sure which quarry she was to 

by K: 



follow. Then, spying the heron, she shot up 
in a swift ascending curve to meet him, 

" Well flown, Margot ! Good bird ! " cried 
the King, clapping his hands to encourage 
the hawk, while the falconers broke into the 
shrill whoops peculiar to the sport. 

Going on her curve the hawk would soon 
have crossed the path of the heron, but the 
latter, seeing the danger in his front and con- 
fident in his own great strength of wing and 
lightness of body, proceeded to mount higher 
in the air, flying in such small rings that to 
the spectators it almost seemed as if the bird 
were going perpendicularly upwards. 

" He takes the air ! " cried the King, 
"But strong as he flies he cannot outfly 
Margot. Bishop, I lay you ten gold pieces to 
one that the heron is mine." 

" I cover your wager, sire," said the Bishop. 
"I may not take gold so won, and yet I 
warrant that there is an altar-cloth somewhere 
in need of repairs." 

" You have good store of altar-cloths, 
Bishop, if all the gold I have seen you win at 
tables goes to the mending of them," said the 
King. " Ah, by the rood, rascal, rascal ! 
See how she flies at check ! " 

The quick eyes of the Bishop had per- 
ceived a drift of rooks which, on their even- 
ing flight to the rookery, were passing along 
the very line which divided the hawk from 
the heron. A rook is a hard temptation 
for a hawk to resist. In an instant the 
inconstant bird had forgotten all about the 
great heron above her, and was circling over 
the rooks, flying westwards with them as 
she singled out the plumpest for her stoop. 

"There is yet time, sire ! Shall I cast off 
her mate?" cried the falconer. 

"Or shall I show you, sire, how a pere- 
grine may win where a gerfalcon fails ? " said 
the Bishop. "Ten golden pieces to one 
upon my bird." 

" Done with you, Bishop ! " cried the King, 
his brow dark with vexation. " By the rood, 
if you were as learned in the fathers as you 
are in hawks you would win to the throne of 
St. Peter ! Cast off your peregrine and 
make your boasting good." 

Smaller than the Royal gerfalcon, the 
Bishop's bird was none the less a swift and 
beautiful creature. From her perch upon 
his wrist she had watched with fierce, keen 
eyes the birds in the heaven, mantling herself 
from time to time in her eagerness. Now, 
when the button was undone and the leash 
uncast, the peregrine dashed off with a whirr 
of her sharp-pointed wings, whizzing round 
in a great ascending circle which mounted 




for that deadly embrace, while the peregrine, 
shaking her plumage, ringed once more so 
as to get high above the quarry and deal it 
a second and more fatal blow. The Bishop 
smiled, for nothing, as it seemed, could 
hinder his victor)'. 

" Thy gold pieces shall be well spent, sire," 
said he. "What is lost to the Church is 
gained by the loser." 

But a most unlooked-for chance deprived 
the Bishop's altar-cloth of its costly mending. 
The King's gerfalcon having struck down a 
rook, and finding the sport but tame, be- 
thought herself suddenly of that noble heron, 
which she still perceived fluttering 
over Crook sbury Heath. How could 
she have been so weak as to allow 
these silly, chattering rooks 
to entice her away from that 
lordly bird ? Even now it 
was not too late to atone for 
her mistake. In a great 
spiral she shot upwards until 
she was over the heron. But 
what was this ? Every fibre 
of her, from her crest to her 
deck feathers, quivered with 
jealousy and rage at the sight 
of this creature, a mere pere- 
grine, who had dared to come 
between a Royal gerfalcon 
and her quarry. With one 
sweep of her great wings 
she shot up until she was 
above her rival. The next 



swiftly upwards, growing ever smaller and 
smaller as she approached that lofty point 
where, a mere speck in the sky, the heron 
sought escape from its enemies. Still higher 
and higher the two birds mounted, while the 
horsemen, their faces upturned, strained 
their eyes in their efforts to follow them. 

" She rings ! She still rings ! " cried the 
Bishop. "She is above him! She has 
gained her pitch ! w 

11 Nay, nay ; she is far below," said the 

" By my soul, my Lord Bishop is right ! " 
cried the Prince. " I believe she is above. 
See ! See ! She swoops ! " 

" She binds ! She binds ! " cried a dozen 
voices, as the two dots blended suddenly 
into one. 

There could be no doubt that they were 
falling rapidly. Already they grew larger to 
the eye. Presently the heron disengaged 
himself and flapped heavily away, the worse 

Digged by G* 

"They crab! They crab!" 
cried the King, with a roar of laughter, follow- 
ing them with his eyes as they hurtled down 
through the air. " Mend thy own altar-cloths, 
Bishop. Not a groat shall you have from me this 
journey. Pull them apart, falconer, lest they 
do each other an injury. And now, masters, 
let us on, for the sun sinks towards the west" 

The two hawks, which had come to the 
ground interlocked with clutching talons and 
ruffled plumes, were torn apart and brought 
back, bleeding and panting, to their perches, 
while the heron, after its perilous adventure, 
winged its way heavily onwards to settle 
safely in the heronry of Waverley. The 
cortege, who had scattered in the excitement 
of the chase, had come together again, and 
the journey was once more resumed. 

A horseman who had been riding towards 
them across the moor now quickened his pace 
and closed swiftly upon them. As he came 
nearer, the King and the Prince cried out 
joyously and waved their hands in greeting 
Original from 




"It is good John Chandos ! " cried the 
King. " By the rood, John, I have missed 
your merry songs this week or more. Glad 
I am to see that you have your citole slung 
to your back. Whence come you, then ? " 

" I came from Tilford, sire, in the hope 
that I should meet your Majesty." 

" It was well thought of. Come, ride here, 
between the Prince and me, and we will 
believe that we are back in France with our 
war harness on our backs once more. What 
is your news, Master John ? " 

Chandos's quaint face quivered with sup- 
pressed amusement and his one eye twinkled 
like a star. 

" Have you had sport, my liege ? " 

" Poor sport, John. We flew two hawks 
on the same heron. They crabbed, and the 
bird got free. But why do you smile so ? " 

" Because I hope to show you better sport 
ere you come to Tilford." 

" For the hawk ? For the hound ? " 

" A nobler sport than either." 

" Is this a riddle, John ? What mean you?" 

" Nay, to tell all would be to spoil all. I 
say again that there is rare sport betwixt here 
and Tilford, and I beg you, dear lord, to 
mend your pace, that we make the most of the 

Thus adjured the King set spurs to his 
horse, and the whole cavalcade cantered over 
the heath in the direction which Chandos 
showed. Presently, as they came over a slope, 
they saw beneath them a winding river with 
an old high-backed bridge across it. On the 
farther side was a village green with a fringe 
of cottages and one dark manor-house upon 
the side of the hill. 

" This is Tilford," said Chandos. " Yonder 
is the house of the Lorings." 

The King's expectations had been aroused 
and his face showed his disappointment. 

" Is this the sport that you have promised 
us, Sir John? How can you make good 
your words ? " 

" I will make them good, my liege." 

11 Where, then, is the sport ? " 

On the high crown of the bridge a rider 
in armour was seated, lance in hand, upon a 
great yellow steed. Chandos touched the 
King's arm and pointed. 

" That is the sport," said he. 



The King looked at the motionless figure, 
at the little crowd of hushed, expectant 
rustics beyond the bridge, and finally at the 

Vol. *xxl— 33 

face of Chandos, which shone with amuse- 

" What is this, John ? " he asked. 

"You remember Sir Eustace Loring, sire?" 

" Indeed I could never forget him nor the 
manner of his death." 

" He was a knight-errant in his day." 

" That indeed he was — none better have I 

"So is his son Nigel, as fierce a young 
war-hawk as ever yearned to use beak and 
claws, but held fast in the mews up to now. 
This is his trial flight. There he stands at 
the bridge-head, as was the wont in our 
fathers' time, ready to measure himself 
against all comers." 

Of all Englishmen there was no greater 
knight-errant than the King himself, and 
none so steeped in every quaint usage of 
chivalry, so that the situation was after his 
own heart. 

" He is not yet a knight ? " 

u No, sire ; only a squire." 

"Then he must bear himself bravely this 
day if he is to make good what he has done. 
Is it fitting that a young, untried squire 
should venture to couch his lance against 
the best in England ? " 

" He hath given me his cartel and chal- 
lenge," said Chandos, drawing a paper from 
his tunic. " Have I your permission, sire, to 
issue it ? " 

" Surely, John, we have no cavalier more 
versed in the laws of chivalry than yourself? 
You know this young man, and you are 
aware how far he is worthy of the high 
honour which he asks. Let us hear his 
defiance ! " 

The knights and squires of the escort, 
most of whom were veterans of the French 
war, had been gazing with interest and some 
surprise at the steel-clad figure in front of 
them. Now, at a call from Sir Walter 
Manny, they assembled round the spot 
where the King and Chandos had halted. 
Chandos cleared his throat and read from 
his paper: — 

" ' A tous seigneurs, chevaliers, et escuyers/ 
so it is headed, gentlemen. It is a message 
from the good Squire Nigel Loring of Til- 
ford, son of Sir Eustace Loring of honour- 
able memory. Squire Loring awaits you in 
arms, gentlemen, yonder upon the crown of 
the old bridge. Thus says he : ' For the 
great desire that I, a most humble and un- 
worthy squire, entertain, that I may come to 
the knowledge of the noble gentlemen who 
ride with my Royal master, I now w r ait on 
the bridge of {he Wey, ii> the hope that 





"there he stands at the bkidge-heau, as was the wont in our fathers time. 

some of them may condescend to do some 
small deed of arms upon me, or that I may 
deliver them from any vow which they may 
have taken. This I say out of no esteem for 
myself, but solely that I may witness the 
noble bearing of these famous cavaliers and 
admire their skill in the handling of arms. 
Therefore, with the help of St. George, I will 
hold the bridge with sharpened lances against 
any or all who may deign to present them- 
selves while daylight lasts.' " 

11 What say you to this, gentlemen ? " asked 
the King, looking round with laughing eyes. 

" Truly it is issued in very good form/' 
said the Prince. " Neither Claricieux, nor 
Red Dragon, nor any herald that ever wore 
tabard could better ft Did he draw it of 
his own hand ? " 

11 He hath a grim old grandmother who is 
one of the ancient breed," said Chandos. 
" I doubt not that the Dame Ermyntrude 
hath drawn a challenge or two before now. 
But hark ye, sire ; I would have a w T ord in 
your ear, and yours too, most noble Prince." 

Leading them aside, 
Chandos whispered some 
explanations, which ended 
by them all three bursting 
into a shout of laughter. 

" By the rood ! no honour- 
able gentleman should be 
reduced to such straits/' said 
the King, " It behoves me 
to look to it. But how now, 
gentlemen ? This worthy 
cavalier still waits his 

The soldiers had all been 
buzzing together, but now 
Walter Manny turned to the 
King with the result of their 
11 If it please your Majesty," 
said he, "we are of 
opinion that this squire 
hath exceeded all bounds 
in desiring to break a 
spear with a belted knight 
ere he has given his 
proofs. We do him suffi- 
cient honour if a squire 
ride against him, and 
with your consent I have 
chosen my own body- 
squire, John Widdi- 
combe, to clear the path 
for us across the bridge." 
"What you say, Wal- 
ter, is right and fair,*"' 
said the King. " Master Chandos, you will 
tell our champion yonder what hath been 
arranged. You will advise him also that it is 
our Royal will that this contest be not fought 
upon the bridge, since it is very clear that it 
must end in one or both going over into the 
river, but that he advance to the end of the 
bridge and fight upon the plain. You will 
tell him also that a blunted lance is sufficient 
for such an encounter, but that a hand-stroke 
or two with sword or mace may well be 
exchanged if both riders should keep their 
saddles. A blast upon RaouFs horn shall be 
the signal to close." 

Such ventures as these, where an aspirant 
for fame would wait for days at a cross- 
road, a ford, or a bridge, until some worthy 
antagonist should ride that way, were very 
common in the old days of adventurous 
knight-errantry, and were still familiar to the 
minds of all men, because the stories of the 
Romancers and the songs of the trouveurs 
were full of such incidents. Their actual 
occurrence, however, had become rare. There 




was the more curiosity, not unmixed with 
amusement, in the thoughts of the courtiers 
as they watched Chandos ride down to the 
bridge, and commented upon the somewhat 
singular figure of the challenger. His build 
was strange and so also was his figure, for 
the limbs were short for so tall a man. His 
head also was sunk forward, as if he were lost 
in thought or overcome with deep dejection. 

" This is surely the Cavalier of the Heavy 
Heart," said Manny. " What trouble has he 
that he should hang his head ? " 

" Perchance he hath a weak neck," said 
the King. 

"At least he hath no weak voice," the 
Prince remarked, as Nigel's answer to 
Chandos came to their ears. " By our Lady, 
he booms like a bittern." 

As Chandos rode back again to the King, 
Nigel exchanged the old ash spear which had 
been his father's for one of the blunted 
tournament lances which he took from the 
hands of a stout archer in attendance. He 
then rode down to the end of the bridge, 
where a hundred-yard stretch of green sward 
lay in front of him. At the same moment 
the squire of Sir Walter Manny, who had 
been hastily armed by his comrades, spurred 
forward and took up his position. The King 
raised his hand, there was a clang from the 
falconer's horn, and the two riders, with a 
thrust of their heels and a shake of their 
bridles, dashed furiously at each other. In 
the centre the green strip of marshy meadow- 
land, with the water squirting from the gallop- 
ing hoofs, and the two crouching men, gleam- 
ing bright in the evening sun ; on one side 
the half circle of motionless horsemen, some 
in steel, some in velvet, silent and attentive, 
dogs, hawks, and horses all turned to stone ; 
on the other the old peaked bridge, the blue 
lazy river, the group of open-mouthed rustics, 
and the dark old manor-house, with one 
grim face which peered from the upper 

A good man was John Widdicombe, but 
he had met a better that day. Before that 
yellow whirlwind of a horse, and that rider 
who was welded and riveted to his saddle, 
his knees could not hold their grip. Nigel 
and Pommers were one flying missile, with 
all their weight and strength and energy 
centred on the steady end of the lance. 
Had Widdicombe been struck by a thunder- 
bolt he could not have flown faster or farther 
from his saddle. Two full somersaults did 
he make, his plates clanging like cymbals, 
ere he lay flat upon his back. , For a 
moment the King looked grave at that pro- 

digious fall. Then, smiling once more as 
Widdicombe staggered to his feet, he clapped 
his hands loudly in applause. 

" A fair course and fairly run," he cried. 
"The five scarlet roses bear themselves in 
peace even as I have seen them in war. 
How now, my good Walter? Have you 
another squire, or will you clear a path for 
us yourself?" - 

Manny's choleric face had turned darker as 
he observed the mischance of his representa- 
tive. He beckoned now to a tall knight, 
whose gaunt and savage face looked out from 
his open bassinet as an eagle might from a 
cage of steel. 

" Sir Hubert," said he, " I bear in mind the 
day when you overbore the Frenchmen at 
Caen. Will you not be our champion now ? " 

" When I fought the Frenchmen, Walter, it 
was with naked weapons," said the knight, 
sternly. "I am a soldier and I love a soldier's 
work, but I care not for these tilt-yard tricks, 
which were invented for nothing but to ticklfe 
the fancies of foolish women." 

" Oh, most ungallant speech ! " cried the 
King. "Had my good consort heard you 
she would have arraigned you to appear at a 
Court of Love with a jury of virgins to 
answer for your sins. But I pray you to take 
a tilting-spear, good Sir Hubert ! " 

" I had as soon take a peacock's feather, 
my fair lord, but I will do it, if you ask me. 
Here, page, hand me one of those sticks, 
and let me see what I can do." 

But Sir Hubert de Burgh was not destined 
to test either his skill or his luck. The 
great bay horse which he rode was as unused 
to this warlike play as was his master, and 
had none of its master's stoutness of heart, 
so that when it saw the levelled lance, the 
gleaming figure, and the frenzied yellow 
horse rushing down upon it, it swerved, 
turned, and galloped furiously down the river- 
bank. Amid roars of laughter from the 
rustics on the one side and from the 
courtiers on the other, Sir Hubert was seen 
tugging vainly at his bridle and bounding 
onwards, clearing gorse bushes and heather 
clumps, until he was but a shimmering, 
quivering gleam upon the dark hillside. 
Nigel, who had pulled Pommers on to his 
very haunches at the instant that his oppo- 
nent turned, saluted with his lance and 
trotted back to the bridge-head, where he 
awaited his next assailant. 

"The ladies would say that a judgment 
hath fallen upon our good Sir Hubert for 
his impious words," said the King. 

"Let us hope that his charger may be 



broken in ere he venture to ride out between 
two armies," remarked the Prince "They 
might mistake the hardness of his horse's 
mouth for a softness of the rider's heart 
See where he rides, still clearing every bush 
upon his path." 

"By the rood!" said the King, "if the 
bold Hubert has not increased his repute as 
a jouster, he has gained gre^t honour as a 
horseman. But the bridge is still closed, 
Walter. How say you now? Is this young 
squire never to be unhorsed, or is your King 
himself to lay lance in rest ere his way can 
be cleared ? By the head of St. Thomas ! 
I am in the very mood to run a course with 
this gentle youth/ 

* Nay, nay, sire ; too much honour hath 
already been done him," said Manny, looking 
angrily at the motionless horseman. "That 
this untried boy should be able to say that 
in one evening he has unhorsed my squire 
and seen the back of one of the bravest 
knights in England is surely enough to turn 
his foolish head. Fetch me a spear, Robert ! 
I will see what I can make of him." 

The famous knight took the spear when it 
was brought to him as a master workman 
He balanced it, shook it 
the air, ran his eyes down 
the wood, and then finally, 
having made sure of its poise and weight, 
laid it carefully in rest under his arm. Then 
gathering up his bridle so 
as to have his horse under 
perfect command, and 
covering himself with the 
shield which was braced 
upon his left arm, he rode 
out to do battle. 

Now T , Nigel, young and 
inexperienced, aJl Nature's 
aid will not help you 
against the mixed craft and 
strength of such a warrior ! 
The day will come when 
neither Manny nor even 
Chandos could sweep you 
from your saddle ; but 
now, even had you some 
less cumbrous armour, 
your chance were^ small. 
Your downfall is near, but 
as you see the famous red 
martins on the blue ground 
your gallant heart, which 
never knew fear, is only 
filled with joy and amaze- 
ment at the honour done 
you. Your downfall 

takes his tool, 
once or twice in 
it for a flaw in 

near, and yet in your wildest dreams you 
would never guess how strange your downfall 
is to be. 

Again with a dull thunder of hoofs the 
horses gallop over the soft water-meadow. 
Again with a clash of metal the two riders 
meet. It is Nigel now, taken clean in the 
face of his helmet with the blunted spear, 
who flies backwards off his horse and falls 
clanging on the grass. 

But, good heavens ! what is this ? Manny 
has thrown up his hands in horror, and the 
lance has dropped from his nerveless fingers. 
From all sides, with cries of dismay, with 
oaths and shouts and ejaculations to the 
saints, the horsemen ride wildly in. Was 
ever so dreadful, so sudden, so complete an 
end to a gentle passage at arms ? Surely 
their eves must be at fault ! Some wizard's 
trick has been played upon them to deceive 
their senses ! But, no ; it was only too clear. 
There on the greensward lay the trunk of 
the stricken cavalier, and there — a good 
dozen yards beyond— lay his hel meted head. 
" By the Virgin ! " cried Manny, wildly, as 
he jumped from his horse. " I would give 
my last gold piece that the work of this even- 
ing should be undone. How came it ? What 
does it mean ? Hither, my Lord Bishop, for 
surely it smacks of witchcraft and the devil." 
With a white face the Bishop had sprung 
down beside the prostrate body, pushing 
through the knot of horrified knights 
and squires. 

" I fear that the last offices of Holy 

Church come too late," said he, in a 

quivering voice. " Unfortunate young 

man ! How sudden an end ! * In medio 

vitse,' as the Holy Book 

has it. One moment in 

the pride of his youth — 

the next his head torn 

from his body. Now 




N (3fiC|tt"niailF.ff0)KlftRATE UOI)Y r " 



2 53 

God and His saints have mercy upon me and 
guard me from evil ! " 

The last prayer was shot out of the Bishop 
with an energy and earnestness which was 
unusual in his orisons. It was caused by the 
sudden outcry of one of the squires, who, 
having lifted the helmet from the ground, 
cast it down again with a scream of horror. 

" It is empty ! ' he cried. " It weighs as 
light as a feather." 

" 'Fore God, it is true ! " cried Manny, 
laying his hand on it. " There is no one in 
it. With what have I fought, Father Bishop ? 
Is it of this world or of the next ? " 

The Bishop had clambered on to his horse 
the better to consider the point. 

" If the foul fiend is abroad," said he, " my 
place is over yonder by the King's side. 
Certes, that sulphur-coloured horse hath a 
very devilish look. I could have sworn that 
I saw both smoke and flame from its nostrils. 
The beast is fit to bear a suit of armour 
which rides and fights and yet hath no man 
within it" 

"Nay, not too fast, Father Bishop," said 
one of the knights. " It may be all that you 
say, and yet come from a human workshop. 
When I made a campaign in South Germany 
I there saw at Nuremberg a cunning figure, 
devised by an armourer, which could both 
ride and wield a sword. If this be such a 

one " 

" I thank you all for your very gentle 
courtesy," said a booming voice from the 
figure upon the ground. 

At the words even the valiant Manny 
sprang into his saddle. Some rode madly 
away from the horrid trunk. A few of the 
boldest lingered. 

" Most of all," said the voice, " would I 
thank the most noble knight, Sir Walter 
Manny, that he should deign to lay aside his 
greatness and condescend to do a deed of 
arms upon so humble a squire." 

"Tore God!" said Manny, "if this be 
the devil, then the devil hath a very courtly 
tongue. I will have him out of his armour 
if he blast me." 

So saying he sprang once more from his 
horse, and plunging his hand down the slit 
in the collapsed gorget he closed it tightly 
upon a fistful of Nigel's yellow curls. The 
groan that came forth was enough to convince 
him that it was indeed a man who lurked 
within. At the same time his eyes fell upon 
the hole in the mail corselet which had served 
the squire as a visor, and he burst into deep- 
chested mirth. The King, the Prince, and 
Chandos, who had watched the scene from a 

distance, too much amused by it to explain 
or interfere, rode up weary with laughter now 
that all was discovered. 

" Let him out ! " said the King, with his 
hand to his side. " I pray you to unlace 
him and let him out. I have shared in 
many a spear-running, but never have I been 
nearer falling from my horse than as I 
watched this one. I feared the fall had 
struck him senseless, since he lay so still." 

Nigel had indeed lain with all the breath 
shaken from his body, and as he was unaware 
that his helmet had been carried off he had 
not understood either the alarm or the 
amusement that he had caused. Now freed 
from the great hauberk in which he had been 
shut like a pea in a pod, he stood blinking in 
the light, blushing deeply with shame that 
the shifts to which his poverty had reduced 
him should be exposed to all these laughing 
courtiers. It was the King who brought him 

" You have shown that you can use your 
father's weapons," said he, "and you have 
proved also that you are the worthy bearer of 
his name and his arms, for you have within 
you that spirit for which he was famous. But 
I wot that neither he nor you would suffer a 
train of hungry men to starve before your 
door, so lead on, I pray you, and if the meat 
be as good as this grace before it, then it will 
be a feast indeed ! " 



It would have fared ill with the good name 
of Tilford manor-house and with the house- 
keeping of the aged Dame Ermyntrude had 
the King's whole retinue, with his outer and 
inner marshal, his justiciar, his chamberlain, 
and his guard, all gathered under the one 
roof. But by the foresight and the gentle 
management of Chandos this calamity was 
avoided, so that some were quartered at the 
great Abbey and others passed on to enjoy 
the hospitality of Sir Roger FitzAlan at 
Farnham Castle. Only the King himself, the 
Prince, Manny, Chandos, Sir Hubert de 
Burgh, the Bishop, and two or three more 
remained behind as the guests of the 

But small as was the party and humble the 
surroundings, the King in no way relaxed that 
love of ceremony, of elaborate form, and of 
brilliant colouring which was one of his 
characteristics. The sumpter mules were 
unpacked, squires ran hither and thither, 
baths smoked m the bedchambers, silks and 




satins were unfolded, gold chains gleamed 
and chinked, so that when at last, to the 
long blast of two Court trumpeters, the 
company took their seats at the board, it was 
the brightest, fairest scene which those old 
black rafters had ever spanned. The great 
influx of foreign knights who had come in 
their splendour from all parts of Christendom 
to take part in the opening of the Round 
Tower of Windsor six years before, and to 
try their luck and their skill at the tourna- 
ment connected with it, had deeply modified 
the English fashions of dress. The old 
tunic, over-tunic, and cyclas were too sad and 
simple for the new fashions, so now strange 
and brilliant cotehardies, pourpoints,courtpies, 
paltocks,hanselines,and many other wondrous 
garments, parti-coloured or diapered, with 
looped, embroidered, or escalloped edges, 
flamed and glittered round the King. He 
himself, in black velvet and gold, formed a 
dark, rich centre to the finery around him. 
On his right sat the Prince, on his left the 
Bishop, while Dame Ermyntrude marshalled 
the forces of the household outside, alert 
and watchful, pouring in her dishes and her 
flagons at the right moment, rallying her 
tired servants, encouraging the van, hurrying 
the rear, hastening up her reserves, the 
tapping of her oak stick heard ever where the 
pressure was the greatest. Behind the King, 

clad in his best, but look- 
ing drab and sorry amid 
the brilliant costumes round 
him, Nigel himself, regard- 
less of an aching body and 
a twisted knee, waited upon 
his Royal guests, who threw 
many a merry jest at him 
over their shoulders as they 
still chuckled at the adven- 
ture of the bridge. 

"By the rood!" said 
King Edward, leaning back 
with a chicken-bone held 
daintily between the 
courtesy fingers of his left 
hand, " the play is too good 
for this country stage. You 
must to Windsor with me, Nigel, and bring 
with you this great suit of harness in which 
you lurk. There you shall hold the lists with 
your eyes in your midriff, and unless some- 
one cleave you to the waist I see not how any 
harm can befall you. Never have I seen so 
small a nut in so great a shell." 

The Prince, looking back with laughing 

eyes, saw by Nigel's flushed and embarrassed 

face that his poverty hung heavily upon him. 

" Nay," said he, kindly, u such a workman 

is surely worthy of better tools." 

" And it is for his master to see that he 
has them," added the King. "The Court 
armourer will look to it that the next time 
your helmet is carried away, Nigel, your head 
shall be inside it." 

Nigel, red to the roots of his flaxen hair, 
stammered out some words of thanks. John 
Chandos, however, had a fresh suggestion, 
and he cocked a roguish eye as he made it. 

"Surely, my liege, your bounty is little 
needed in this case. It is the ancient law of 
arms that if two cavaliers start to joust, and 
one either by maladdress or misadventure 
fail to meet the shock, then his arms become 
the property of him who still holds the lists. 
This being so, methinks, Sir Hubert de 
Burgh, that the fine hauberk of Milan and 
the helmet of Bordeaux steel in which you 
rode to Tilford should remain with our 
young host as some small remembrance of 
your visit." 

The suggestion raised a general chorus of 
approval and laughter, in which all joined 
save only Sir Hubert himself, who, flushed 
with anger, fixed his baleful eyes upon 
Chandos's mischievous and smiling face. 

" I said that I did not play that foolish 
game, and I Jcnow qolhing of its laws," said 
"but you 


he ; 

iuw inn 1 1 mi; ui il-> laws, ^aiu 

■fltfW f My John, that if you 



would have a bout with sharpened spears or 
swords, where two ride to the ground and 
only one away from it, you have not far to 
go to find it." 

" Nay, nay ; would you ride to the ground ? 
Surely you had best walk, Hubert," said 
Chandos. "On your feet I know well 
that I should not see your back, as we have 
seen it to-day. Say what you will, your 
horse has played you false, and I claim your 
suit of harness for Nigel Loring." 

" Your tongue is over-long, John, and I 
am weary of its endless clack," said Sir 
Hubert, his yellow moustache bristling from 
a scarlet face. " If you claim my harness, do 
you yourself come and take it. If there is a 
moon in the sky you can try this very night 
when the board is cleared." 

"Nay, fair sirs," cried the King, smiling 
from one to the other, " this matter must be 
followed no farther. Do you fill a bumper 
of Gascony, John, and you also, Hubert. 
Now pledge each other, I pray you, as good 
and loyal comrades who would scorn to fight 
save in your King's quarrel. We can spare 
neither of you while there is so much work 
for brave hearts over the sea. As to this 
matter of the harness, John Chandos speaks 
truly where it concerns a joust in the lists, 
but we hold that such a law is scarce binding 
in this, which was but a wayside passage and 
a gentle trial of arms. On the other hand, in 
the case of your squire, Master Manny, there 
can be no doubt that his suit is forfeit." 

"It is a grievous hearing for him, my 
liege," said Walter Manny, "for he is a poor 
man, and hath been at sore pains to fit him- 
self for the wars. Yet what you say shall be 
done, fair sire ; so if you will come to me in 
the morning, Squire Loring, John Widdi- 
combe's suit will be handed over to you." 

" Then, with the King's leave, I will hand 
it back to him," said Nigel, troubled and 
stammering, " for indeed I had rather never 
ride to the wars than take from a brave man 
his only suit of plate." 

" There spoke your father's spirit ! " cried 
the King. " By the rood ! Nigel, I like you 
full well. Let the matter bide in my hands. 
But I marvel much that Sir Aymery the 
Lombard hath not come to us yet from 

From the moment of his arrival at Tilford, 
again and again King Edward had asked 
most eagerly whether Sir Aymery had come, 
and whether there was any news of him, so 
that the courtiers glanced at each other in 
wonder. For Aymery was known to all 
of them* as a famous mercenary soldier of 

Italy, lately appointed Governor of Calais, 
and this sudden and urgent summons from 
the King might well mean some renewal of 
the war with France, which was the dearest 
wish of every soldier. Twice the King had 
stopped his meal and sat with sidelong head, 
his wine-cup in his hand, listening attentively 
when some sound like the clatter of hoofs 
was heard from outside, but the third time 
there could be no mistake. The tramp and 
jingle of the horses broke loud upon the ear, 
and ended in hoarse voices calling out of the 
darkness, who were answered by the archers 
posted as sentries without the door. 

" Some traveller has indeed arrived, my 
liege," said Nigel. " What is your Royal 
will ? " 

" It can be but Aymery," the King 
answered, " for it was only to him that I left 
the message that he should follow me hither. 
Bid him come in, I pray you, and make him 
very welcome at your board" 

Nigel cast open the door, plucking a torch 
from its bracket as he did so. Half-a-dozen 
men-at-arms sat their horses outside, but one 
had dismounted — a short, squat, swarthy 
man with a rat face and quick, restless 
brown eyes which peered eagerly past Nigel 
into the red glare of the well-lit hall. 

"I am Sir Aymery of Pavia," he whispered. 
"For God's sake, tell me, is the King 
within ? " 

" He is at table, fair sir, and he bids you 
to enter," 

" One moment, young man, one moment, 
and a secret word in your ear. Wot you why 
it is that the King has sent for me? " Nigel 
read terror in the dark, cunning eyes which 
glanced in sidelong fashion into his. 

" Nay, I know not." 

" I would I knew — I would I was sure ere 
I sought his presence." 

" You have but to cross the threshold, fair 
sir, and doubtless you will learn from the 
King's own lips." 

Sir Aymery seemed to gather himself as 
one who braces for a spring into ice-cold 
water. Then he crossed with a quick stride 
from the darkness into the light. The King 
stood up, and held out his hand with a smile 
upon his long, handsome face — and yet it 
seemed to the Italian that it was the lips 
which smiled, but not the eyes. 

" Welcome ! " cried Edward. " Welcome 
to our worthy and faithful Seneschal of Calais ! 
Come, sit here before me at the board, 
for I have sent for you that I may hear your 
news from over the sea, and thank you for the 
care that vou have taken of that which is as 




dear to me as wife or child. Set a place for 
Sir Aymery there, and give him food and 
drink, for he has ridden fast and far in our 
service to-day," 

Throughout the long feast which the skill 
of the Lady 
Ermyntrude had 
arranged Edward 
chatted lightly 
with the Italian 
as well as with 
the barons near 
him. Finally, 
when the last dish 
was removed and 
the gravy-soaked 
rounds of coarse 
bread which 
served as plates 
had been cast to 
the dogs, the 
wine- flagons were 
passed round, and 
old Weathercote 
the minstrel en- 
tered timidly with 
his harp in the 
hope that he 
might be allowed 
to play before the 
King's Majesty, 
But Edward had 
other sport afoot. 

" I pray you, 
Nigel, to send out 
the servants, so 
that we may be 
alone. I would 
have two men-at-arms at every door, lest we 
be disturbed in our debate, for it is a matter 
of privacy. And now, Sir Aymery, these 
noble lords as well as I, your master, would 
fain hear from your own lips how all goes 
forward in France." 

The Italian's face was calm ; but he looked 
restlessly from one to another along the line 
of his listeners. 

" So far as I know, my liege, all is quiet on 
the French marches," said he. 

" You have not heard, then, that they have 
mustered or gathered to a head with the 
intention of breaking the truce and making 
some attempt upon our dominions ? n 

" Nay, sire, I have heard nothing of 

" You set my mind much at ease, Aymery," 
said the King, " for if nothing has come to 
your ears, then surely it cannot be. It was 
said that the wild knight de Chargny had 

Digitized by dOOgle 

come down to St. Omer with his eyes upon 
my precious jewel and his mailed hands ready 
to grasp it." 

"Nay, sire, let him come. He will find 
the jewel safe in its strong-box with a goodly 

guard over it." 

M You are the 
guard over my 
jewel, Aymery." 

"Yes, sire, I 
am the guard." 

"And you are 
a faithful guard, 
and one whom I 
can trust, are you 
not? You would 
not barter away 
that which is so 
dear to me when 
I have chosen 
you out of all my 
army to hold it 
for me ? " 

"Nay, sire; 
what reasons can 
there be for such 
questions ? They 
touch my honour 
very nearly; you 
know that I 
would only part 
with Calais when 
I parted with my 

"Then you 
know nothing of 
de Chargny's 
attempt ? " 
"Nothing, sire," said the Italian. 
"Liar and villain!" yelled the King, 
springing to his feet and dashing his fist 
upon the table until the glasses rattled again. 
" Seize him, archers ; seize him this instant ! 
Stand close by either elbow lest he do 
himself a mischief. Now, do you dare to 
tell me to my face, you perjured Lombard, 
that you know nothing of de Chargny and 
his plans?" 

"As God is my witness I know nothing of 
him." The man's lips were white, and he 
spoke in a thin, sighing, reedy voice, his 
eyes wincing away from the fell gaze of the 
angry King. 

Edward laughed bitterly and drew a paper 
from his breast. 

" You are the judges in this case ; you, 
my fair son, and you, Chandos, and you, 
Manny, and you, Sir Hubert, and you also, 
my Lord Bishop. By my sovereign power 





I make you a court that you may deal justice 
upon this man, for by God's eyes I will not 
stir from this room until I have sifted the 
matter td the bottom. And first I would 
read you this letter. It is superscribed to 

sire," said Chandos. " De Chargny was my 
prisoner, and so many letters passed ere his 
ransom was paid that his script is well known 
to me. Yes, yes ; I will swear that this is 
indeed his. If my salvation were at stake I 
could swear it." 

"If it were indeed written 
by de Chargny it was to 
dishonour me," cried Sir 

" Nay, nay 



Sir Aymery de Pavia nomm£ Le Ixsmbard, 
Chateau de Calais. Is that not your name 
and style, you rogue ? " 

" It is my name, sire, but no such letter 
has come to me." 

11 Else had your villainy never been dis- 
closed. It is signed ■ Isidore de Chargny.' 
What says my enemy, de Chargny, to my 
trusted servant ? Listen ! * We could not 
come with the last moon, for we have not 
gathered to sufficient strength, nor have we 
been able to collect the twenty thousand 
crowns which are your price. But with the 
next turn of the moon in the darkest hour we 
will come, and you will be paid your money 
at the small postern gate with the rowan bush 
beside it.' Well, sir, what say you now ? " 

" It is a forgery ! " gasped the Italian. 

" I pray you that you will let me see it, 

Vol. xxxj.— 9$ 

young Prince. " We 
know de Chargny, and have 
fought against him. Many 
faults he has — a boaster and 
brawler — but a braver 
man and one of greater 
heart and higher of enter 
prise does not ride beneath 
the lilies of France. Such 
a man would never stoop to 
write a letter for the sake of 
putting dishonour upon one 
of knightly rank. I, for one, 
will never believe it." 

A gruff murmur from the 
JlZ? ' others showed that they were 
of one mind with the Prince. 
The light of the torches from 
the walls beat upon the line 
of stern faces at the high 
table. They had set like flint, 
and the Italian shrank from 
their inexorable eyes. He 
looked swiftly round, but 
armed men choked every entrance. The 
shadow of death had fallen athwart his soul. 
"This letter," said the King, "was given 
by de Chargny to one Dom Beauvais, a 
priest of St. Omer, to carry into Calais. The 
said priest, smelling a reward, brought it to 
one who is my faithful servant, and so it 
came to me. Straightway I sent for this 
man that he should come to me. Meanwhile 
the priest has returned, so that de Chargny 
may think that his message is indeed 

" I know nothing of it," said the Italian, 
doggedly, licking his dry lips. 

A dark flush mounted to the King's fore 
head, and his eyes were gorged with his 

" No more of this, for God's dignity ! " * 
he cried. " Had we this fellow at the Tower 
a few turns of the rack would tear a confes- 
sion from his craven soul. But why should 
we need his word for his own guilt? You 
have seen, my lords^-you have heard ! How- 
say you. faiY&JH 1 ? 31 iFUft roan guilty ? " 




"Sire, he is guilty," 

"And you, John ? And you, Walter ? And 
you, Hubert? And you, my Lord Bishop? 
You are all of one mind, then ? He is guilty 
of the betrayal of his trust. And the punish- 

" It can only be death," said the Prince, 
and each in turn the others nodded their 

" Aymery of Pavia, you have heard your 
doom," said Edward, leaning his chin upon 
his hand and glooming at the cowering 
Italian. "Step forward, you archer at the 
door— you with the black beard. Draw your 
sword ! Nay, you white-faced rogue, I would 
not dishonour this roof-tree by your blood. 
It is your heels, not your head, that we want. 
Hack off those golden spurs of knighthood 
with your sword, archer. Twas I who gave 
them and I who take them back. Ha ! 
they fly across the hall, and with them even' 
bond betwixt you and the worshipful order 
whose sign and badge they are, Now lead 
him out on to the heath afar from the houses, 
where his carrion can best lie, and hew his 
scheming head from his body as a warning 
to all such traitors." 

The Italian, who had slipped from his 
chair to his knees, uttered a cry of despair as 
an archer seized him by either shoulder. 
Writhing out of 
their grip, he threw 
himself upon the 
floor and clutched 
at the King's feet. 

"Spare me, my 
most dread lord, 
spare me, I 
beseech you ! In 
the name of 
Christ's passion, I 
implore your grace 
and pardon ! Be- 
think yeu, my 
good and dear 
lord, how many 
years I have served 
under your ban- 
ners and how 
many services I 
have rendered. 
Was it not I who 
"found the ford 
upon the Seine 
two days before 
the great battle? 
Was it not I also 
who marshalled 
the attack at the 

intaking of Calais? I have a wife and four 
children in Italy, great King, and it was the 
thought of them which led me to fall from 
my duty, for this money would have allowed 
me to leave the wars and to see them once 
again. Mercy, my liege, mercy, I implore ! " 

The English are a rough race, but not a 
cruel one. The King sat with a face of doom, 
but the others looked askance and fidgeted 
in their seats. 

" Indeed, my fair liege," said Chandos, " I 
pray you that you will abate somewhat of 
your anger." 

Edward shook his head curtly. 

i; Be silent, John. It shall be as I have 

" I pray you, my dear and honoured liege, 
not to act with overmuch haste in the 
matter," said Manny. " Bind him and hold 
him until the morning, for other counsels 
may prevail." 

11 Nay ; I have spoken. Lead him out." 

But the trembling man clung to the King's 
knees in such a fashion that the archers could 
not disengage his convulsive grip. 

" Listen to me a moment, I implore you ! 
Give me but one minute to plead to you, and 
then do what you will." 

The King leaned back in his chair. 

" Speak and have done," said he. 

/ "\/"\i W ULU NOT ^KNGAGl- HIS to£lWsTOCRl1V v|r 



Silt NIGEL, 


"You must spare me, my noble liege. 
For your own sake I say that you must spare 
me, for I can set you in the way of such a 
knightly adventure as will gladden your 
heart Bethink you, sire, that this de 
Chargny and his comrades know nothing of 
their plans having gone awry. If I do but 
send them a message they will surely come 
to the postern gate. Then, if we have placed 
our bushment with skill, we shall have such 
a capture and such a ransom as will fill 
your coffers. He and his comrades should 
be worth a good hundred thousand crowns." 

Edward spurned the Italian away from 
him with his foot until he sprawled among 
the rushes, but even as he lay there like a 
wounded snake his dark eyes never left the 
King's face. 

"You double traitor! You would sell 
Calais to de Chargny and then in turn you 
would sell de Chargny to me. How dare 
you suppose that I or any noble knight had 
such a huckster's soul as to think only of 
ransoms where honour is to be won ? Could 
I or any true man be so caitiff and so thrall ? 
You have sealed your own doom. Lead 
him out ! " 

"One instant, I pray you, my fair and 
most sweet lord," cried the Prince. " Assuage 
your wrath yet a little while, for this man's 
rede deserves perhaps more thought than we 
have given it. He has turned your noble 
soul sick with his talk of ransoms, but look 
at it, I pray you, from the side of honour, and 
where could we find such hope of worship- 
fully winning honour ? I pray you to let me 
put my body in this adventure, for it is one 
from which, if rightly handled, much advance- 
ment is to be gained." 

Edward looked with sparkling eyes at the 
noble youth at his side. 

" Never was hound more keen on the track 
of a stricken hart than you on the hope of 
honour, fair son," said he. " How do you 
conceive the matter in your mind ? " 

" De Chargny and his men will be such as 
are worth going far to meet, for he will have 
the pick of France under his banner that 
night If we did as this man says, and 
awaited him with the same number of lances, 
then I cannot think that there is any spot 
in Christendom where one would rather be 
than in Calais that night" 

" By the rood, fair son, you are right ! " 
cried the King, his face shining with the 
thought "Now, which of you, John 
Chandos or Walter Manny, will take the 

thing in charge ? " He looked mischievously 
from one to the other, like a master who 
dangles a bone betwixt two fierce old hounds. 
All they had to say was in their burning, 
longing eyes. " Nay, John, you must not 
take it amiss, but it is Walter's turn, and he 
shall have it" 

"Shall we not all go under your own 
banner, sire, or that of the Prince ? " 

" Nay ; it is not fitting that the Royal 
banners of England should be advanced in 
so small an adventure. And yet, if you 
have space in your ranks for two more 
cavaliers, both the Prince and I would ride 
with you that night" 

The young man stooped and kissed his 
father's hand. 

"Take this man in your charge, Walter, 
and do with him as you will. Guard well, 
lest he betray us once again. Take him 
from my sight, for his breath poisons the 
room. And now, Nigel, if that worthy grey- 
beard of thine would fain twang his harp or 
sing to us — but what in God's name would 
you have ? " 

He had turned, to find his young host upon 
his knee and his flaxen head bent in entreaty. 

" What is it, man ? What do you crave ? " 

" A boon, fair liege ! " 

" Well, well ; am I to have no peace to- 
night, with a traitor kneeling to me in front 
and a true man on his knees behind ? Out 
with it, Nigel ! What would you have ? " 

" To come with you to Calais." 

" By the rood ! your request is fair enough, 
seeing that our plot is hatched beneath your 
very roof. How say you, Walter ? Will you 
take him, armour and all ? " 

"Say rather will you. take me?" said 
Chandos. "We are rivals in honour, Walter, 
but I am very sure that you would not hold 
me back." 

" Nay, John, I will be proud to have the 
best lgyice in Christendom beneath my 

"And I to follow s6 knightly a leader. 
But Nigel Loring is my squire, and so he 
comes with us also." 

"Then that is settled," said the King; 
" and now there is no need for hurry, since 
there can be no move until the moon has 
changed. So I pray you to pass the flagon 
once again, and to drink with me to the good 
knights of France. May they be of great 
heart and high of enterprise when we all 
meet once more within the castle wall of 

{Tobecmtlnu fMm^ OF MICHIGAN 

" Psyche " Portraits of Female Beauty. 

OR the three following 
u Psyche n or composite photo 
graphs of American girls, and 
the very interesting account of 
the manner in which they were 
obtained in order to produce 
from many subjects a single typical face, 
we are indebted to Mrs. G. C. Howland, of 
Chicago. We have considered that it would 
be equally interesting to apply the same 
methods to the nations of 
Europe, and to produce 
the faces which repre- 
sent the typical beauty of 

First, then, for Mrs. 
Howland's portion of the 
subject. She asks, a 
propos of the American 
girl — Is there such a 
personality ? European 
observers of the daughters 
of Jonathan who annu- 
ally invade their shores 
affirm that the type is 
easily recognisable, that it 
has peculiar traits, desir- 
able and otherwise, which 
are strongly marked. 

If we take Indiana 
as the central State and 


that having the largest percentage of native 
population, and apply the art of composite 
photography to the members of some repre- 
sentative body — say, a public school — we 
ought to arrive at a feminine type which shall 
fairly represent the women of the whole nation. 
In the Girls' Classical School, Indianapolis, 
the capital city of Indiana, there is a col- 
lection of photographs which shows the 
American girl as she really is. Since 1888 
Mrs. May Wright Sewall, 
who is known on the 
European side of 
Atlantic, as well as 
her own, because 
the prominent part 
which she took in the 
Women's Congress at 
Berlin, has had compo- 
site photographs made of 
the successive graduating 
classes of her school. 
These classes were com- 
posed of girls from re- 
presentative Indiana 

She found that it was 
not enough merely to con- 
fide her idea to the photo- 
grapher; she must, as well, 
suggest to him a method 






rill URES, 









of carrying it out. The first composite was 
made on a single photographic plate by 
successive partial exposures, the subjects 
standing in line, similarly posed, one behind 
another, and each at a given signal stepping 
into place before the camera. The first 
result was a crude affair. Nevertheless, it 
was so far successful that Mrs. Sewall deter- 
mined to carry out her 
plan with later classes. 
"Psyches" she called 
the pictures, using the 
Greek name for the 
soul, for she found 
that she could see 
in each the spirit of 
the class it repre- 
sented. Even when it 
was impossible to dis- 
tinguish individual 
features or expression, 
yet the dominant spirit 
of the group of girls 
was always there, 
clear, strong, unmis- 

The collection of 
photographs hangs now 
in the entrance hall 
of the Girls' Classical 
School, together with 
separate bust cabinet 
pictures of the subjects 
that compose them. 




Some of them are made up of a large number 
of faces and others of a small number, 
according to the size of the graduating class 
represented. Of the " Psyches n which are 
herewith reproduced, thirteen girls posed for 
that of the class of 1901, seventeen for that 
of 1904, and seven for that of 1905. 

Each M Psyche " has its own peculiar charm. 
Sometimes the face is 
scholarly ; sometimes 
it is purely feminine 
in the delicacy of its 
outlines and expres- 
sion. Even when it 
has not beauty it 
shows harmony in the 
relation of its parts. 
And it is always 
womanly, just as it is 
always youthful. 

Naturally, as speci- 
mens of photographic 
art, the later "Psyches" 
have greater value 
than the earlier ones. 
Printed now from a 
negative made from in- 
dividual photographic 
plates, with the focus 
the central point be- 
tween the eyes, they 
have almost precision 
of outline. The " Psv- 
O alfro^e" of last year's 





graduating class looks older than the others. 
It is interesting to note that there is a marked 
resemblance between them all, as if they 
were actually sisters of one family. 

The American girl whom the " Psyches " 
show is not the American girl whom one is 
accustomed to see portrayed in literature and 
art, that young per- 
son of " pretty, soft 
colouring, dainty out- 
line, and impertinent 
expression/' whose 
beauty " lends itself 
adtn rably to latest 
fashions and general 
extravagance," as she 
has been described by 
one of her critics 
abroad. She looks deli- 
cately built and sensi- 
tively organized ; but 
there are bones under 
the roundness of her 
flesh, and there is a 
vitality about her which 
in no way suggests 
that deterioration of 
physique which the 
European student of 
American life likes 
to deplore. Her ex- 
pression — spiritual, 
almost mystical — pre- 


supposes a character more elevated and 
interesting than any mere problem " partly 
of racial modification and partly of social 
conditions of a commercial age." 

Applying the same principle, or one 
encompassing the same ends, to cosmopolitan 
types, let us see what result is obtained. 
It was not pretended 
that the American 
lady's " Psyche " por- 
traits comprised many 
examples of physical 
beauty. Let us see 
what the result would 
be if a group of English 
women, notable for 
their beauty, and in- 
cluding such ladies as 
the Duchess of Suther- 
land, Miss Cecilia 
Loftus, Miss Lily Bray- 
ton, and Miss Phyllis 
Broughton, should be 
focused together in a 
so-called u Psyche" 
portrait. Naturally, 
when one has a long 
nose and chin and an- 
other shorter features, 
a certain indefiniteness 
must ensue, but in 
the photograph re- 
aikcbrmmi, il|rorduced all the 




? 6 3 


characteristics of the most radiant type of 
Englishwoman are strikingly apparent, 

Ireland is noted for her titled aristocratic 
beauties as well as for those of the more 
humble class. Here we see a blend of a 
number of charming Irishwomen, from Lady 
Beatrice Pole-Carew to one of the charming 
colleens that repre- 
sented Ireland in the 
"Women of All 
Nations Exhibition n 
held at Earl's Court 
some seasons ago. 

How different are 
the engaging linea- 
ments of the young 
Scotswomen whose 
" Psyche n stands re- 
vealed to us in the next 
portrait. Here, although 
many have stood for 
their portrait — indi- 
rectly, of course — yet 
no one member seems 
impressed on the col- 
lective result. The face 
is that of a pretty girl 
north of the Tweed — 
essentially Scotch. 

France has long 
been famous for the 
beauty of her women, 
and this reputation is 


fully justified by the accompanying "Psyche" 
portrait of a number of her fairest daughters. 
The result is not surprising when it is con- 
sidered that such well-known beauties as 
Hading, Minty, and Merode are included in 
this composite. 

Who could doubt that the face shown in 
our next portrait is 
of German origin ? 
It may not be re- 
markable for any par- 
t i c u I a r physical 
beauty, yet, neverthe- 
less, the expression is 
most pleasing, and in 
it all those attributes 
for which the German 
housewife is de- 
servedly famous stand 
plainly revealed. 

From Germany to 
Holland is but a 
short step, and the 
face shown in our 
next portrait, though 
essentially and typi- 
cally Dutch, shares, 
however, a great many 
of her neighbour's 
characteristics. T h e 
expression is quiet, 
peaceful, and serene, 

ITALIAN BLEND. C I * I f rO«IH 4 .it i S CUSy t O 




imagine such a woman 
would make an ideal 
wife and mother. 

From Russia we ob- 
tain a most interesting 
physiognomy. It is, 
perhaps, the most in- 
tellectual of any of 
our series, and one may 
well imagine the pos- 
sessor of such a coun- 
tenance to be a woman 
of lofty ideals and 
strong determination. 
The gaze is imperious 
and masterful, and one 
might almost detect 
the suspicion of a sneer 
upon those lips. It 
is essentially the 
face of an aristocrat, a 
woman born to com- 

Italy presents us 
with a somewhat softer 
type of beauty. The 
large, dark, southern eyes are characteristic 


(A blend of eight portraits.) 

intent, therefore, of 
repairing this omission 
we have taken full- 
face portraits of a 
bevy of America's 
fairest daughters, in- 
cluding, amongst 
others, such ladies as 
Miss Alice Roosevelt, 
Miss Edna May, Miss 
Maxine Elliott, and 
Miss Camille Clifford, 
arid the " Psyche " ad- 
duced therefrom is 
shown in the accom- 
panying picture. Surely 
even the most fasti- 
dious of critics could 
have nothing but praise 
for the freshness and 
radiancy of its beauty, 
and he were indeed a 
misogynist who would 
fail to be captivated by 
so charming a counte- 
To conclude, let us present a composite of 

of their nation, and, gazing at the portrait, all the groups that have gone before — of the 
our mind naturally reverts to those sunny fair daughters of England, Ireland, Scotland, 

shores where 
beauty such as 
this, far from 
being uncom- 
mon, finds its 
natural home. 

Not wholly dis- 
similar is the 
11 Psyche "of fair 
Spanish women 
next given. All 
the familiar cha- 
racteristics are 
well brought out 
in this portrait- 

The method 
adopted by the 
American lady- 
doctor was, per- 
haps, not quite 
fair to her charm- 
ing fellow-coun- 
try-women, as 
professedly she 
did not select the 
most beautiful 
specimens of her 
race. With the; 

v fcVE —A COMfOSI 


France, America, 
Germany, Italy, 
Spain, Holland, 
and Russia It is, 
without exaggera- 
tion, a marvellous 
picture, this — a 
blend of fifty 
of all nations, a 
vision of cosmo- 
politan femini- 
nity—a dream of 
fair' women. It 
might well be 
entitled "Eve." 

[The Editor is 
indebted to the 
courtesy of the 
directors of the 
London Exhibi- 
tions, Limited, 
for permission to 
make use of their 
collection of pho- 
tographs of the 
" Women of All 
Nations Exhibi- 
tion" held at 
Earl's Court in 



| ELL, gentlemen," I said, 
rising from my seat in the 
common-room at Martyrs, 
and addressing the assembled 
dons with some warmth ; 
11 with all due respect to you, 
to bring me all the way down here about a 

paltry tuppenny Plato " 

"One moment, Mr. Scott," put in the 
Dean, who had hardly troubled to conceal 
his contempt for the proceedings so far. 
11 Aladdin's lamp was worth about twopence, 
I believe ; and our manuscript is just as 
precious* With the Master's leave, here is 
our story." 

So, having brought them to the point by 
my little show of indignation, I resumed my 

That afternoon I had received a telegram 
requesting my services, as a detective, 
in a matter of urgent importance. Fifteen 
minutes after reading this I was in 
the Cambridge train. At six I reached 
Cambridge. Five minutes later I drew 
up at the college gate. A porter hurried me 
across the quadrangle towards a group of 
men in black gowns. "The Master would 
not go into hall till you arrived," he said. 

Vol. xxxL— 34. 

Already the Master was coming across the 
court to meet me — a venerable old man with 
a dignified but kindly countenance, though 
visibly clouded by anxiety. 

"We are much indebted to you for coming 
to our assistance so quickly, Mr. Scott," he 
said. " We a^e just going into hall, for we 
must spare half an hour for dining, for your 
sake if not for our own. Afterwards I will 
tell you why we have sent for you. 7 ' 

He led the way into hall, now filled 
with the noise and incense of dinner, for the 
crowd of undergraduates, not sharing their 
elders' cares, were already at their meal. 
Our table was on a dais at one end, and I 
was given a seat next the Dean, Mr. Cobb. 
He was a younger man than most of the 
dignitaries, and would have been handsome 
but for his scornful expression and the trucu- 
lent turn of his lips. I fancied him already 
a power in the college, second perhaps to 
the Master ; for the rest of the dons were 
commonplace, undistinguished-looking men. 

The trouble, whatever it was, weighed 
heavily on them all. I watched them eating, 
like men eat under sentence of death, heavily 
but without enjoyment. 

The conversational pulse beat so low, 




meanwhile, that I had plenty of time to gaze 
at the striking scene before me. Three 
tables ran the length of the floor, and at 
those sat the gowned undergraduates, break- 
ing on our silence with their clashes of 
laughter and high-spirited talk. The hall 
itself was narrow but very lofty, and decorated 
from rafters to dark panelling with mellow 
colours and gilding. Windows with stone 
tracery and emblazoned panes lighted it from 
either side, the last being deeply embayed 
from floor to roof. At the far end a gallery, 
supported on columns, overhung the principal 
doors, while all around hung portraits of 
deceased benefactors, row upon row. The 
scene was enriched to the full by the mass of 
silver that sparkled on the tables — candle- 
sticks, casters, epergnes, and salvers ; there 
was enough of it to have stocked a palace. 
I remarked on this to the Dean as I 
flavoured my asparagus from a pepper-pot 
that must have weighed a couple of pounds. 

"Our silver is the envy of the whole 
'Varsity," he replied, " and we could furnish 
these tables twice over if need were. I only 
hope it is not all at the pawnbroker's before 
the year is out We should look well with 
pewter candelabra and black-handled cutlery, 
as they have at Spades College — eh, Master ?" 

The Master winced at this unlovely picture, 
and glanced uneasily round as if he feared the 
ill-omened word had gone too far. 

" Mr. Scott has come to avert that 
calamity/' he said, in low tones. "And now, 
if you will all come into the common-room, 
we will put our fortunes into his hands." 

In the common-room we found a servant 
opening some wine. The Master sent him 
about his business. 

"Tell Mr. Adeane that we have left 
hall," he said, "and see that we are not 

Mr. Adeane did not make his appearance, 
and the argument continued hotly for half an 
hour. Out of it I gathered a tale of a lost 
manuscript of some one of the philosopher 
Plato's works, and of some reasons for caution 
and secrecy that were not very intelligible. 
And the unfortunate absentee, Mr. Adeane, 
in whom I began to take quite a protective 
interest, so much they wrangled over his 
name, was intimately concerned in the loss. 

There was something, too, which the 
majority wished to tell me, and which the 
Master would not allow to be said if he could 
help it. Half-a-dozen times it trembled on 
the tip of a careless and, I thought, spiteful 
tongue, and each time the Master slew the 
utterance with an anguished remonstrance. 

Digitized by L^OOgle 

" I beg of you to remember the terms on 
which we agreed to call in Mr. Scott to help 
us. He is to be allowed to form an entirely 
unbiased opinion." 

In short, as it seemed to me, I was present 
less as the investigator of a crime or the 
unraveller of a mystery than as the umpire 
between these contending parties, who could 
not even agree how their case was to be 

At last, to save any more shilly-shallying, I 
resorted to the little display of temper I have 
recorded, and so got the matter out of the 
slough into which it had fallen and into the 
mouth of a man who seemed capable of 
giving it out in a straightforward manner. 

His firm, incisive tones stilled the babble of 
the rest, and even the Master let him have his 
say without any further interruption than the 
raising of an agitated hand. 

" We are on the brink of a great disaster, 
Mr. Scott, and unless you help us our good 
name and our honourable position in the 
University fall from us to-morrow as the clock 
strikes three. Three centuries ago," he con- 
tinued, " John Hoyles, a London merchant, 
bequeathed forty-two manuscripts, nineteen 
houses in the City, a farm in Kent, the tithes 
of some Berkshire parishes, and the patronage 
of four benefices to ourselves and to Spades 
College jointly on this condition: The 
bequest to be held by Martyrs for our sole 
use as long as the forty-two manuscripts were 
kept in our library without loss or damage. 
But if a single one of these, or a leaf of one, 
is lost the other college claims the whole 
legacy, money, lands, manuscripts, and all. 
Every year the manuscripts are counted and 
inspected by the authorities of Spades, and 
for more than three hundred years they have 
gone disappointed away. Now for the first 
time one of them is missing." 

" And the date of the next inspection ? " 
I asked, having at last a clear view of their 

"To-morrow. Unless by to-morrow that 
manuscript is back in the library, more than 
a hundred thousand pounds' worth of pro- 
perty passes out of our hands and into those 
of Spades. To-day we are prosperous beyond 
common ; to-morrow we may have to sell 
our library to pay our scholarships." 

" And the fellowships," put in one of the 
dons, " will fall from a comfortable three 
hundred pounds a year to something less 
than zero." 

" And my business is to discover that lost 
manuscript within twenty-four hours ? " 

" That is the main problem that lies before 

■--■ii y i r i □ i h ■ j 1 1 1 




you," said the Dean ; " if you fail— — " and 
he made a gesture expressive of throwing up 
life in general. 

" You consider it stolen, not mislaid ? H 

" It has vanished/' replied the Dean, 
darkly, " How, we must leave you to decide." 

" Its intrinsic value ? " 

" Quite trifling ; say a couple of pounds." 

" And the circumstances of its disap- 
pearance ? " 

Here we were evidently getting on delicate 
ground again, for the Dean hesitated a 
moment before replying, as if to choose his 
words, and a deeper quiet awaited them. 

"As a rule," he said, with contemptuous 
scorn, " the whole of the manuscripts are 
kept in the library with our other collections, 
but this particular manuscript had been taken 
away for purposes of study by our senior 
tutor, Mr. Adeane, of course with the know- 
ledge and consent of the librarian. From his 
rooms it disappeared last night ; it was there 
when he retired, he tells us, and when he 
arose it had vanished." 

11 And that is all ? * 

" All, except that I have here a note from 
the tutor of Spades say- 
ing that he will be here 
at three to-morrow and 
intends a more thorough 
examination of the 
Hoyles manuscripts than 
has been made for some 
years. And," continued 
the Dean, in an over- 
bearing voice, "we had 
a visit from some sort 
of bailiff yesterday, seek- 
ing to serve some process 
for debt upon Mr. 
Adeane. We don't allow 
such persons within the 
college gates, and fortu- 
nately he was recognised 
and stopped by the 
porter. But the incident, 
of which Mr. Adeane has 
been told, and of which 
he offers us no explana- 
tion, is significant." 

"Of nothing," broke 
in the Master. "And 
Mr. Adeane owes us no explanation." 

The Dean shrugged his shoulders. 

" I merely state such facts as seem to me 
to bear on the case. I for one have no 
intention of living in a fool's paradise until 
the crash comes. Let every man make his 
own deductions." 


Mr. Cobb's deductions were quite apparent. 
He believed in a conspiracy between Spades 
College and his colleague, Mr. Adeane, to 
spirit away the manuscript and so change Jhe 
destination of the Hoyles bequest. And 
nothing but the presence of the Master 
prevented him from making the accusation 

" What is the status of Spades ? " I asked 

" Poor as a mouse," he replied, promptly. 
"And one man at least in their society would 
stick at nothing to feather the family nest." 

" Of course, you consulted the police as 
soon as the loss was discovered ? " I asked. 
" No," he replied, dubiously. 
"Why not?" I pressed him again. "Prompt 
action is all the world in such cases." 

All eyes were turned on the Master, and we 
waited for his reply. But he remained silent. 
He would not utter the misgivings which it 
was clear he felt. So the Dean answered 

" The Master knows as well as anyone that 
once you set the ball rolling you can't tell 
where it will stop. And now, since Adeane 

evidently doesn't in- 
tend to face the 
music, you had 
better go and hear 
his story, and then 
you will be able to 
tell us what you 

The Master himself 
led me with hesitat- 






ing and tremulous steps into the quadrangle, 
and from thence to the stairs leading to Mr. 
Adeane's rooms. Half-way up the stair we 
entered a door the lintel of which bore Mr. 
Adeane's name in white lettering, and passed 
into a lobby out of which- two doors opened. 
The Master tapped at one of them and 
went in. 

"You have stayed so long, Adeane, that 
we have come to seek you. This is Mr. 
Scott, who has responded very promptly to 
our call." 

Mr. Adeane's reception of me could hardly 
be regarded as satisfactory. He rose to 
greet me as we entered, but was so agitated 
that he turned away and sank into his chair 
without having spoken a word. 

The Master turned to leave the room, but 
before he went he laid his hand pleadingly 
on my arm. 

" Let me once more remind you," he said, 
earnestly, "of our complete dependence on 
you. The fate of the college is in your 
hands. The mastership which I have held 
for fifteen years I resign to you to-night. I 
have seen the college in its pride and strength ; 
Heaven grant I may not see it in its decay ! 
Or," he added, in a lower and heart-broken 
tone, "in dishonour.' 

" First of all, sir," I said to Mr. Adeane, 
when the Master had gone, " what you want 
is a glass of wine." 

I poured him one out from a decantei 
on the table, for I saw that "he was in no 
condition to help me unless I could pull him 
together one way or another. 

" Thank you," he said, gratefully, and tried 
to drink it. But his hand was so shaky that 
the wine went over on the table-cloth. He 
rose and tried to mop it up with his hand- 
kerchief, but only succeeded in knocking the 
glass on to the floor, where it smashed. Then 
he stood staring helplessly at what he had 
done, and quite incapable of anything further. 
I kicked the fragments of glass under the 

"We'll consider that incident closed," I 
said, treating him lightly. " And now tell 
me how many hours' work a day it has 
taken to bring you into that condition of 

"I came into college last night after 
four hours' proctorial duty, and after a cup 
of cocoa sat down to work at that desk." 
And he pointed to an ancient bureau which 
stood against the wall. " At one I gave 
it up, put the manuscript inside the desk, 
and went to bed. I did not lock the desk, 
for I have long since lost the key, but just 

Digiiiz&d by LiOOQ IC 

put it on the top of the other things. I 
rose at six this morning to start work again, 
but the manuscript was gone." 

I lifted the lid of the desk ; it contained 
a mass of untidy papers and books. 

" I need not ask if this has been over- 
hauled and all the other odd places in the 
room searched." 

" Three of us have done that, but quite 
uselessly. The manuscript is not in my 
rooms, you may take that as certain." 

"And you have not missed anything 

"No; my watch remained on the top of 
the desk all night. And, what adds to the 
mystery, when I came in I bolted the outer 
door which separates my lobby from the 
staircase, in order that the bed-maker might 
not disturb me in the morning before I 

I now began my examination of the rooms, 
and Mr. Adeane followed me round. I 
scrutinized the outer door, which he said he 
had bolted. Its fastenings were in good 
order, and if I must take his word the thief 
had not entered that way. The little lobby 
had two doors, one leading into the tutor's 
sitting-room. " And the other ? " I asked. 

An empty set of rooms," he replied. 
" They are left unoccupied because it would 
be inconvenient to have anyone using the 
same lobby as myself." 

"Any other entrance into them but by 
this door?" 

" Oh, no ; and the windows look into the 
same court as mine." 

I returned to the sitting-room. From that, 
again, two doors opened, one into the bed- 
room and the other into a small study. In 
the latter room was still another door. 

" It is the entrance, the only entrance, into 
the gallery of the hall," said Mr. Adeane. 
" It is always kept locked." 

I turned the handle of this locked door, 
however, and was not much surprised to find 
it open. I looked at the tutor and saw 
drops of sweat standing on his face. The 
room was empty. 

"I could have sworn — I could have 

sworn " he murmured. Then he 

stumbled back into the larger room, and, 
very white and haggard, sank into an arm- 

I was not so much impressed by the 
importance of the open door as I was by 
the tutor's extraordinary agitation at my 
discovery. If the thief had entered that 
way, as might or might not have been the 
case, why should it stagger Mr. Adeane more 




than if he had entered by the main door, or 
the window, or even by the chimney? No ! 
It was not the door that was the mystery. 
It was the man. Was Mr. Cobb's theory 
right after all ? 

After a few moments' reflection I turned 
to him again. 

"Now, sir, listen to me," I began, with 
great solemnity. Mr. Adeane lifted his head 
and showed a face absolutely ghastly with 

11 Are you sure you left the manuscript in 
the desk overnight ? n 

" I am sure," 

14 And having bolted your outer door 
you found it still bolted this morning ? " 

" I am certain of it." 

11 And you slept in that bed 
all night ? " 

He af ,in assented. 

11 Can you add anything that 
mav throw light on the affair ? " 

II Nothing ! " 
** Then where does that leave 

us ? " I exclaimed, rather an- 
noyed at the general lameness 
of the story. " What hypo- 
thesis can be formed on such 
a basis ? Can you wonder that 
strange things are 
hinted at ? " 

Mr. Adeane flushed 
crimson as I said this, 
and rose from his seat 
as if to conclude our 

II I give you my 
word as a gentleman," 
he said, with a firmer 
ring in his voice than 
I had heard yet, 
"that I know no 
more of the manu- 
script than I have 
told you." 

Satisfactory or other- 
wise as this might be, 

there was evidently nothing further to be got 
out of him, so I left him, in order to pursue 
certain inquiries that his words had suggested. 

First of all there was the question of an 
entrance having been made into the rooms 
by the windows or through the gallery of the 

I next visited Mr. Cobb and asked him if 
it was his custom to bolt his outer door at 
night, and what time the servants came into 
college in the morning. The answer I got 
gave more food for thought ; Mr. Cobb 

never bolted his door and ridiculed the idea 
of anybody else doing so. And as for the 
servants, they never came into the college 
before seven. A curious commentary on 
Mr. Adeane's reason for bolting himself in. 

" And now show me the remaining manu- 

u It is an instance of proverbial unwisdom," 
sneered Mr. Cobb ; " they are now locked up 
in the steward's safe." 

'* The place where they used to be kept is 
what I wish to see," I replied, and he took 
me to the library. There I found, signi- 
ficantly enough, that the windows were un- 
barred on the ground floor, and in one place 
were screened by a shrubbery. To have 




broken in here would have been ten times 
easier than into Mr. Adeane's rooms ; and no 
doubt, if an attempt had been made, entirely 
without inside assistance, to remove one of 
the manuscripts, it would have been the 
library to which attention would have 
been given, a fact which pointed in the 
clearest way to the presence of a confederate, 
at any rate, within the walls. And, of course, 
the next inquiry touched the characters of 
the college servants or whoever had access to 
Mr. Adeane's; xooms, 




" All of them are of old standing or the 
children of old servants," said Mr. Cobb. 
" They have good reputations, which means, 
of course, that they would not sell themselves 
under a good figure. But then a good price 
might be offered for their services — good 
enough, perhaps, to tempt one of ourselves." 

" What of Mr. Adeane's personal servants ? 
He spoke of his bed-maker. What of her ? " 

"Adeane is rather peculiar in his ways. 
We all have a woman and a man to look 
after us — it is the usual custom ; but about a 
year ago he quarrelled with his gyp — with the 
man, that is — and has never replaced him, 
so that his bedder has done everything for 
him since then. Adeane is strange in many 
ways, or, rather, he has changed much of late. 
He never comes to hall or into the common- 
room nowadays — seems to avoid everybody 
and buries himself in his work as if his life 
depended on it." 

" His face did not strike me as being that 
of a misanthrope," I remarked. " Making 
allowance for these awkward events, I should 
have called him an uncommonly fine-looking 
man. And he's in debt ? " 

" Obviously ; though where he spends his 
money or what he spends it on, Heaven 
knows. Certainly not here." 

Now when a man's debts are not con- 
tracted in the sight of his friends there is 
generally a reason for it. One or two 
reasons, in fact. And I wondered which of 
these two roads to ruin Mr. Adeane had been 

"Marriage steadies a man, after all," I 
remarked, reflectively. " It is a pity for some 
men when they are debarred from that form 
of society." 

With scorn Mr. Cobb said : " I daily thank 
our pious founders that, in their wisdom, they 
saw fit to cut us off from that resource of the 
weak. Here, at any rate, we are secure from 
the intrusion of the trifling sex. There are 
no drags on our wheels. 

Down to Gehenna or up to the throne, 
He travels the fastest who travels alone. 

No, no. The case is not complicated in 
that way. But what do you think, now that 
you have heard Mr. Adeane ? " 

" You did not bring me here to tell gentle- 
men of your mental calibre and training 
what you can see just as easily as I can, that 
there is something impossible or incomplete 
in Mr. Adeane's account of the loss." 

" Very incomplete," ejaculated the Dean. 

" And when I give you my opinion do you 
intend to act on it ? " 

11 1, at all events, shall back > ou up. If 

Digitized by ^OOQ IC 

the house must fall Samson shall fall with it, 
that is certain." 

11 Then you'll excuse me if I take a little 
time to consider my decision. There is the 
Master's opinion to combat, for one thing." 

I was pondering over Mr. Cobb's words 
and gazing out of my window into the 
quadrangle when the man himself, the 
subject of my cogitations, crossed the court. 
He was going out of college, and, as I 
watched him go, it struck me as being a 
good opportunity of getting a look round his 
rooms in his absence. I found, however, on 
reaching the staircase that his outer door 
was latched against me. Not an insuperable 
difficulty for me, of course, as I always 
carry the means of picking any ordinary 
lock. And no doubt I should have 
succeeded here. But I was obliged to desist 
in my attempt, as I heard steps ascend- 
ing the stair. It was a neat, elderly body, 
carrying a bunch of keys, which declared her 
to be the bed-maker. Since she had arrived 
so opportunely I asked her to let me into the 
rooms, giving as an excuse that I had left my 
notebook on the table. 

" That ain't my way," she replied, promptly, 
and with some indignation. "I never lets 
anybody into the gentlemen's rooms, and 
least of all Mr. Adeane's. And a stranger, 
too ! " 

" Very well ; then I'll sit on the stair till he 
comes back," I calmly replied. 

But I had evidently roused deep suspicion 
in her honest bosom. 

" You can't sit there," she said. " You'd 
be in the way, and folks can't get up and 
down for you." 

But I was determined to wait till she went 
off, and she, it seems, was equally determined 
to get rid of me, for presently she fetched a 
broom from some corner and began to sweep 
the stair from top to bottom. Then I was 
obliged to capitulate ; I was choked out, and, 
with a few sarcasms on the infrequency of 
the operation, judging from the dust she 
raised, I left her to her own devices and 
went to my room. 

Later, long after the gates were shut for the 
night and the lamps extinguished, and when 
even the night porter was snugly in bed, I 
strolled round the courts again, partly to cool 
my brain and partly to see what was the 
aspect of the college when all was still and 
dark. Passing in one of my turns by the 
chapel I noticed, with some astonishment, 
that the great door was ajar, and I heard with 
a curious thrill of the nerves the rolling and 
rumbling among the arches of a monotonous 




voice within, engaged in some solitary form 
of prayer. Hushing my steps I entered ; and, 
crossing the ante-chapel, I stood before the 
gates of the chancel, curious to know who 
this midnight worshipper might be. There, 
kneeling in a stall, the clear moonbeams 
lighting up his agonized face and writhing 
hands, I saw Philip Adeane, A great con- 
flict was in progress in his soul, but with 
what he wrestled, whether man or devil, I 
could not tell At last, 
as I listened to his 
murmuring, one phrase 
of his prayer came 
clearly to my ears and, 
though it filled me with 
pity and regret, could 
not startle me. 

"Oh, God!" he 
prayed, in accents of 
agony, " have mercy 
on my dishonoured 

It was remorse, then, 
that had brought him 
to his prayers. 

I waited and watched 
until he rose from his 
knees, and then, as he 
left his place, I walked 
down the aisle to meet 
him. My first move- 
ment had a startling 
effect. The tutor threw 
up his hands with a 
scream like a woman 
and fell in a heap on 
the chapel floor. The 
shock of finding that 
I had been a witness of 
his performance had 
been too much for his 
overwrought nerves- 
He was in a dead faint. 
And it was a con- 
siderable time before, 
with the assistance I could give him, he 
came to his senses again. When he saw 
where and in whose hands he w,°.s, he 
made a great effort, rose to his feet, and, 
with tottering steps, made his way down the 
aisle. Pitying his white face and feeble state, 
I offered him my arm to his rooms, but he 
only shook his head. 

" I deserve no man's help, no man's 
kindness," he faltered, turning his face from 
me. M I have brought shame and ruin on 
my college. Let me go alone," 

And, not being able to gainsay this, I did 


not press my services upon him. So ended 
a day that promised a tragedy for the morrow. 
But on the morrow, by one swift turn of 
the wheel of fate, the sky was transformed, 
and, instead of a tragedy, we were given a 
lively comedy — |n fact, I might almost say a 
screaming farce. 

In spite, or perhaps because, of my defeat 
by the bed-maker, I was still determined to 
explore Mr. Adeane's rooms without his 
assistance. He was 
due, so I learned from 
the Dean, to deliver a 
lecture out of college 
at eleven o'clock, and 
shortly before that time 
I saw him go off. I 
immediately went to 
the common-room, 
where the Master and 
two or three dons 
seemed to sit in per- 
petual committee of 
urgency. Without any 
general explanation of, 
the course of events, 
I told the Master I 
should want to see him 
presently on a matter 
that had better, per- 
haps, be between him 
and me. To this he 
sadly assented. I next 
went to Mr, Adeane's 
staircase, where his 
bed -maker, busy over 
her domestic duties, 
playfully shook a duster 
in my direction when 
she saw me coming. 
When I informed her, 
however, that the 
Master was waiting to 
see her in the common- 
room she was by no 
means so cheerful. She 
followed me in a nervous flurry, and when 
she stood before the Master I thought she 
would have dropped, such a state was she in. 
"I want you, sir," I said to the Master, 
"to command this woman to admit me to 
Mr. Adeane's rooms." 

The Master smoothed the wrinkles from 
his brow with a deliberate hand. 

11 It is indeed a grave step, but if you are 

convinced of its necessity " Then he 

turned to the woman and added, with a sigh : 
" Give Mr. Scott your keys, if you please, 
Mrs. GrubbJfinal from 




At this Mrs. Grubb broke into loud and 
open weeping, lifting her hands and wringing 
them in a truly tragic fashion. Reluctantly 
she took the keys out of her pocket and 
handed them to me. At the same instant 
she turned round, rushed from the room, and 
was off down the passage at a shuffling trot, 
wailing as she went Of course, if it was to 
be a race I need hardly say that I was in it, 
and, though not much of a sprinter, I easily 
gained the staircase first, and had locked Mr. 
Adeane's door behind me before her wheez- 
ings sounded on the stairs. 

Chuckling to myself at my little victory, I 
was about to pass through the lobby into the 
inner room, when I paused with my hand on 
the door handle. And well I might. For I 
heard, to my utter astonishment, the sound 
of footsteps, not in the room I was about to 
enter, but in the other rooms, which Mr. 
Adeane had told me were empty, and to 
which I had never given another thought I 
listened intently. A light step, regular as a 
sentinel's, was going up and down that so- 
called empty room. And I felt that here at 
last my fingers trembled on the key of the 
mystery. Without stopping to speculate on 
what might be coming, without even any clear 
expectation of what I might find behind that 
door, I stepped up to it, 
turned the knob, and 
pushed. It was locked ; 
but the footsteps stopped. 

" Will you open this 
door, or must I force it ? " 
I said, in a distinct voice. 

There was no answer. 

Without further parley 
I moved back a pace, 
lifted one foot breast high, 
and rammed it at the 
lock. The recoil sent 
me flying back against 
the opposite wall ; but, 
with a splintering of wood, 
the door flew open and 
disclosed to my astonished 
gaze, not a shape of guilt 
and evil, but — shade of all 
farce-writers — a young and 
bewitching woman, who, 
armed with a diminutive 
poker, stood ready to 
oppose my entrance. And 
so completely staggered 
was I at such a find that 
had she come on to the 
attack, though her weapon 
had been no bigger than a 

Digitized by \j< 

knitting-needle, I verily believe I should have 
fled and left the field to her. After a few 
moments' staring at each other, however, I 
found my wits again and advanced across the 
threshold to meet my formidable opponent, 
who, as I moved forward, retreated step by 
step until she stood with her back to the wall, 
firmly grasping her poker and eyeing me 
unflinchingly with, perhaps, the loveliest pair 
of eyes that ever looked on man. All this 
time neither of us spoke a word. At last, 
since it was necessary to make a beginning, 
I opened the conversation. 

" Let me advise you to put that murderous 
weapon back in its place and tell me how, 
in the name of mystery, you come to be 

She immediately replaced the poker in the 
grate, and I could not help smiling to see 
how easily she surrendered her little show of 

11 1 don't see anything to laugh at," she 
said, with a pout, and at that moment the 
wail of the bedder sounded on the stair. 

11 Do you know what that is ? " I said. 

11 Of course I do," she answered, quickly. 
" It is Mrs. Grubb saying, ( I told you so/ " 

11 Told you what ? " 

" That we should be found out." 






11 Who are you?" I asked. 

" I — I am Mrs. Philip Adeane." She said 
this with so much dignity and ingenuousness 
that I was quite taken aback again. The 
news itself was startling enough, but her calm 
manner of announcing it was, under the 
circumstances, just the loveliest piece of 
audacity conceivable. I could only wonder 
and admire and weakly remark, "Of course." 

" And what may be your object in break- 
ing in here ? " she added, with a conciliatory 
smile that made me feel like a bear about to 
be offered a bun. All the same, I thought 
her presence required at least as much expla- 
nation as mine. 

44 Well, you see," I replied, " I was told 
these rooms were empty, and naturally I was 
not aware that Mr. Adeane was married. 
I don't think that's been announced yet, 
has it?" 

44 Announced yet ! " she exclaimed. " You 
know as well as I do that he couldn't keep 
his fellowship a day if it were known." 

" And you live here with him in conceal 
ment ? " 

"Yes, occasionally, for a few days at a 

" And not a soul in the college knows any- 
thing at all about it ? " 

" Except our good friend Mrs. Grubb." 

"Then how long have you managed to 
keep this amazing secret ? " 

44 Nearly a year." 

44 And what will the Master say when he 
hears of this ? " 

44 But what else could we do ? " she replied, 
in distressful expostulation. " If Philip had 
resigned when we married we should not 
have had a penny to live on. It's all my 
fault too. I persuaded him to try it And 
now he'll hate me, I know he will. Oh ! Why 
must you come and find out everything ? " 

44 Nothing was fuither from my intention," 
I quickly put in, for she seemed on the verge 
of lovely tears. "The discovery was quite 
an unexpected pleasure foi me, 1 assure you 
And as for running off to tell people about it 
— well, I must see what Mr. Adeane has to 
say for himself first." 

For, indeed, during the last five minutes 
the wind had marvellously changed. From 
the moment that this charming young lady 
told me she was Mr. Adeane's wife I saw 
all my, and Mr. Cobb's, ingeniously-woven 
theory of the lost Plato clean overset. Then 
I was quite ready to point him out, if not as 
the actual thief, yet as a deeply guilty acces- 
sory. Now, in the light of this new know- 
ledge, such an idea seemed absurdly un- 

Vol. xxxu— 35. 

ized by^OOQlC 

supported by any shred of evidence. All the 
circumstances that threw suspicion on him 
took on a very different colour. This was 
what he had to conceal. This was what 
gave him that unfortunate manner which 
would have biased against him a shrewder 
man than I. This was the cause of his 
moroseness and of his quarrel with his ser- 
vants, of which Mr. Cobb had told me. His 
agitation in the matter of the gallery door 
did not require much penetration to under- 
stand now. And, finally, that high-strung 
scene in the college chapel might well be the 
remorse of a sensitive and scrupulous man 
for such a venial offence as taking a wife in 
defiance of the antiquated regulations. And 
such a wife ! The longer I looked at her the 
more I would gladly have put down bail for 
her husband. And as for upsetting their 
little domestic arrangements and tattling to 
the stony-faced Dean, I would as soon have 
robbed a lark's nest. 

Mrs. Adeane, meanwhile, was in two minds 
whethei smiles or tears would best propitiate 
this brutal intruder. Happily she decided to 
try the smiles. And as I was not unwilling 
to be won over, she very soon extracted from 
me solemn and binding promises not to 
breathe a word to anyone about this romantic 

44 Then it's a bargain," she exclaimed, 
merrily, when it was time for me to take 
my leave and go about weightier matters. 
44 You are to be on our side, and we are to be 

44 With all the pleasure in life," I replied ; 
and I carefully locked her in the rooms 
before I went downstairs. 

On the whole I was genuinely pleased. A 
man likes his instincts to be justified by 
events, and certainly mine had cried out 
against the fixing of this crime on Mr. 

On inquiry, about a couple of hours later, 
I learned that Mr. Adeane had gone for a 
ride on horseback, and was not expected back 
until five o'clock. I would have given a 
kingdom to have been able to have a talk 
with him. 

It was now past two o'clock, and the fatal 
hour drew rapidly near. The undergraduates, 
in happy ignorance of the impending doom, 
were gadding about from room to room, 
making up parties for the afternoon's amuse- 
ments ; the dons were now in conclave, 
while over at Spades I imagined them pre- 
paring to come and count the precious 
manuscripts, either in unexpectant indif- 
ference or in guilty exultation. 




" After all," I said to myself, " nothing is 
impossible where a woman is concerned." It 
was a sentiment worthy of Mr. Cobb himself. 

So I strolled as far as Mr. Adeane's rooms 
once more. Mrs. Grubb was still on guard 
on the staircase, 

11 I'll have to trouble you again," I said to 
her. " You aren't afraid of me now, I 
suppose ? " 

Somewhat reluctantly she unlocked the 
door, giving me a warning as she did so. 

Mrs. Adeane, who seemed to have guessed 
me from my knock, met me with a mock 
curtsy and a sprightly look of mischief in her 

11 So I am to be arrested after all/ she said, 
" for feloniously marrying a don. Isn't that 
the charge ? " 

" I see Mrs. Grubb has been tattling about 
me ; but I suppose she couldn't really tell you 
what I am doing here ? * 

11 Oh, yes, she has. She says you're here 
to insult every decent body in the place.'' 

" It's serious enough," I replied "There 
has been a disastrous robbery in the college." 

She clapped her hands with delight. " I 
know," she cried ; " the Dean's false teeth ! 
But I swear I haven't got them. L6ok ! " 

And she opened her dainty mouth wide to 
show me her own as a guarantee of good 

" It might have been serious for your 
husband," and I shook my head at her 
babyish frivolities. 

11 For Philip!" she exclaimed, more soberly. 
" I knew something was troubling him, but 
he wouldn't tell me what. Do tell me, 

So I outlined to her the story of the 
Hoyles bequest and the 
loss of the manuscript 
from her husband's 
desk. She listened to 
me with eager interest 
and, towards the end, 
with a spice of amuse- 
ment in her face. When 
I had done she burst 
right out into elfish 

" They've been look 
ing for that musty old 
thing all these two 
days ? And you, too ? " 

As I assented dis- 
mally enough she 
laughed again. 

11 Is it a few leaves 
of dirty parchment tied 

together with red tape? And they will be 
really ruined— quite ruined, if they don't get 
it back by three o'clock ? " 

" It is, as sure as death," I reiterated. 
" And, for Heaven's sake, my dear young 
lady, if you know anything about it, tell 
me at once." 

For I began to think that indeed she did 
know something, and that at last I was on 
the right track. Unfortunately, in my hurry, 
I showed more eagerness than is diplomatic 
when dealing with a woman. She will always 
torment you if she can. 

"Tell me at once," I said, growing impatient, 
" what it is you know." 

" Stop ! " she commanded ; " let me think." 

There she sat, gently biting her little finger- 
nail, pondering something, while I was on 

11 It must be in their hands in ten 
minutes?" she asked again, meditatively. 
" Sit down," she said, imperatively, "or I will 
not tell you a word. What time will my 
husband be back from his ride ? " 

I told her probably about five. Then the 
thought cleared from her face, and she looked 
at me with one of her enchanting smiles. 

" Have I seen your old manuscript ? Why, 
of course I have. I took it out of the desk 

"You did! But why, why?" 

by tj 








"Philip spent hours poring over the 
wretched thing without ever saying a word 
to me or even looking at me, so I just hid it 
away. I hadn't the slightest idea it had any 
real value. I thought it was just one of those 
silly toys men play with and pretend to be 
hard at work." 

•• And you know where it is ? " 

" Undoubtedly," she calmly replied. 

" I thank the fates I've found it at last," 
and I executed the first steps of a 9 polka 
round the room. 

11 1 congratulate you," she said, dryly. 

"On what?" I stammered. 

" I understood you to say you had found 
the manuscript," she replied, with an accent 
on the "you." 

"Well, of course you'll hand it over." 

"Why should I?" she asked, in the 
coolest tone imaginable. 

" You won't ? " I ejaculated ; and she shook 
her head. 

I was dumbfounded. For she evidently 
meant all she said, and more. Taken it out 
of a childish whim she might ; but now that 
she knew its value to the college she was 
evidently going to make her own terms for 
its restoration. And 1 cursed myself for 
letting her know its importance. However, 
I put as good a face on it as I could. 

"What's hidden can be found," I said. 
" It's only a matter of time." 

" Precisely ; it's a matter of time — of ten 
minutes or so," she retorted. " You are 
welcome to make a search." 

I glanced round the room. There were, 
perhaps, a thousand books in various book- 
cases, in any one of which the manuscript 
might be, a couple of large bureaux, and all 
the thousand and one hiding-places which a 
room well filled with furniture affords. 

" You mean to ruin the college by not 
giving up the manuscript ? " I said, savagely. 
" Let me warn you of the extreme serious- 
ness of the matter." 

" It is precisely because it's serious that I 
am safe," she replied, pleasantly. "And I 
shall give it up when I get what I want 
for it." 

" And what may that be ? " 

"They must promise the next vacant 
college living to Philip. In the ordinary 
course of things he wouldn't get a living for 
years and years, you know. But I think, 
now, I can persuade them to alter the 

"And after marrying your husband in 
flagrant defiance of the college regulations," 
I gasped, "you are going to levy blackmail 

by V_ 



in this disgraceful way ? You are the most 
unscrupulous person I ever met." 

"I take it as a compliment," she said. 
" Why, since a fortunate accident has made 
me master of the situation, should I not profit 
by it? What woman is ever scrupulous 
where her interests are concerned ? " 

" Luckily they haven't all the brains you 
seem to have," I replied; "else laws would 
be but useless things." 

" And detectives too," she slyly put in. 

" Now, once for all," I continued, choking 
back my temper, " I am going down to the 
Master. If I take the manuscript he need 
not know where I got it ; but if you won't 
give it up I shall tell him all. And, re- 
member, it is stealing ; they can send you to 
jail for it." 

" I am in jail already," she said, casting a 
scornful glance round the room. " Besides, 
my terms include an amnesty ; you can tell 
the Master my conditions." 

" I shall certainly do no such thing," I 
answered, indignantly. " You must face them 
yourself if you intend to bargain about it. 
And we had better be going," I added. 
"The time is getting short." 

"The shorter the better. Two minutes 
for you and me to make our explanations and 
five for them to consider my offer. That 
makes seven. It is now ten to three, so I 
have three minutes for a glance in the 

She ran into the adjoining room, and I, 
without thinking, began to rummage in any 
likely place that caught my eye. 

A silvery laugh interrupted me. " Not 
the slightest use," she said. "Now I'm 
ready ; lead on." 

I entered the common-room without 
ceremony. They were all there still, sitting 
about in various attitudes of dejection. The 
Master's watch lay on the table, and a dead 
silence reigned. 

"This is your thief, gentlemen," I said, 
stepping on one side that all might get a 
good view of the lady, who, though twenty 
pairs of eyes were concentrated on her, did 
not change one shade of her youthful colour, 
but faced them as calmly as if they were her 
little dogs. 

There were some moments of stupefaction. 
Then I heard the Master murmur. 

" Who is it, Mr. Scott ? Who is it ? " 

" This is Mrs. Philip Adeane," I said, and 
there was a further rustle of excitement, 
through which the Dean's strident tones 

" If this is a jest, it is rather ill-timed." 





" It may be a jest," I replied, " hut it is 
not of my making. Ask her yourselves." 

"Will you be good enough to tell me if 
this is true ? " said the Master. 

She smiled a little and answered in a 
quiet voice : u Both accusations are true ; 
I confess to stealing your tutor and your 

"And when did this happen ?" 

11 Which ? I took the manuscript only the 
night before last ; but we have been married 
nearly a year." 

"And you wish to make restitution of the 

" Of both, probably," ejaculated the Dean, 

Mrs. Adeane lifted her shoulders and 
smiled. " To-morrow," she said. 

" You are aware that we must have it 

" I know that you want it this minute, but 
I do not intend to give it up unless — — " 
And Mrs. Adeane paused and looked around 
at the dons with the air of one about to 
confer a great favour upon them. 

"Unless what?" 

" Unless you agree to take it on my terms." 

At this Mr. Cobb could contain his temper 
no longer. 

" Sheer blackmail ! * he shouted. " Hand 
over our property this minute if you don't 

by Google 

want your precious 
husband to be im- 
prisoned for fraud 
and conspiracy." 

11 Philip has no- 
thing whatever to do 
with my action in 
this matter," she said, 
with a supercilious 
smile. "He has 
done nothing of 
which you can accuse 

"He married 
you," snarled the 

" It is his only 
fault"; and she 
smiled so demurely 
that some of the 
younger men tit- 
" I wish I had a constable here," retorted 
Mr. Cobb. 

If you want your Plato," she answered, 
firmly, " you can have it — on my terms. But 
if you'd rather send me to prison and let the 

college take its chance, why, then " And 

she held out her wrists towards me with the 
air of a martyr, for me to handcuff, I suppose. 
" It's a scoundrelly plot," roared the Dean, 
getting redder and redder. 

" A conspiracy of one," she retorted, 

Again the Master interposed between them. 
And it was time. For through the window 
we could see two or three of the dons from 
Spades entering at the gateway, and presently 
the porter knocked at the door of the 
common-room to announce their arrival. 

" I could not listen to your terms for a 
moment," said the Master, "if you did not 
hold us at such a sad disadvantage. Please 
tell me, as briefly as possible, what it is you 
want in return for giving up the manuscript 
at once." 

" I want three things. First, you must 
give my husband the next college living 
vacant ; second, you will conceal from him 
all that has happened today ; and last, 
you will give both of us a complete amnesty 
for all the past. I think you will admit, con- 
sidering the poor circumstances you stand in, 
that these are very moderate demands. I 
might have asked much more." 

" And what security do you expect to have 

that we shall carry out our part of this 

bargain ? " asked the Dean. " If we treat 

you with the measure that you use for us 

Original from 




it is yourself that would be in poor circum- 

11 My security will be the word of the 
Master," Mrs. Adeane replied, with a fine 
accent on the word " Master " that made the 
Dean flush. 

" Well, I wash my hands of it, at any 
rate," he said. "I am going to see our 
much-maligned friends from Spades, and if 
you gentlemen see fit to condone a felony 
you had better do it in time to keep the roof 
over your heads." 

When the door had closed behind him the 
Master turned to me. 

" Will you take this lady into the hall for 
a few minutes while we discuss the matter.'' 

She and I retired into the great hall and 
sat down under the dirt-crusted portrait of 
the veritable John Hoyles whose bequest was 
causing all this commotion. 

"You've won all along the line," I said to 
her. " And I must say I admire your brains 
and the way you handle them. But, remem- 
ber, if ever your husband gets wind of this, 
you need not look to be forgiven." 

11 Do you think I go through all this for 
my own sake? "she exclaimed, almost pas- 

sionately, and touching a deeper chord of 
feeling than I had yet seen in her. M Philip 
must be got away from here or the misery 
and suspense of it will kill him. To gain 
that I take all risks. Can't you under- 

Just then we were recalled into the 
common-room, where we found the Master 
almost smiling at getting out of his diffi- 

" Your terms are granted," he said to her. 
" Of course, on the condition that the manu- 
script is handed over in time to be of service." 

A knock at the door and the porter 
entered with a message. 

" The gentlemen from Spades would like 
to see manuscript No. 29." 

The Master looked at Mrs. Adeane, who, 
in the coolest way in the world, pulled the 
precious article out of her skirt pocket and 
handed it to the Master, and then turned to 
me with a challenging smile. 

So she beat me to the very last. For I 
declare, had I guessed that she had it in her 
pocket all the time we were in the hall 
together, I would have had it from her by 
force or by fraud. 


by Google 

Original from 


~4rt of 


By M. Sterling Mackinlay, M.A, Oxon. 

Author of €t Antoinette Sterling and Other Celebrities" 

HEN Pygmalion had finished 
his statue and gazed at its 
perfection he grieved that 
Galatea was not a living being. 
Similarly, when one hears 
someone with a fine voice 
trained to perfection, but without expression, 
one can only lament, u What a pity there is 
no artistic feeling ! " The singing is cold and 
lifeless, and cannot appeal to us. " If only 
there was expression put into it ! " 

A vocalist, to attain real and lasting 
success, must master this stage of the art 
of singing- Without phrasing and expression 
he cannot hope to hold the interest of the 
listener, for he is appealing neither to the 
intellect nor to the heart, but to the ear 
alone. Hence monotony will be the inevit- 
able result. 

How is the singer to avoid monotony? 
He needs no miracle, as did Pygmalion, for 
the answer to this question may be found in 
some degree by following a piece of advice 
which Sir Joseph Barn by once gave: " Listen 
critically to vocalists whenever you can. 
You will find that there is no one from 
whom you cannot learn something. If the 
artist be good, analyze his success, find out 
what are his good points, and follow them. 
If he be bad, find out what are his bad 
qualities, and avoid them." 

Take, then, the dull singer, lay him on the 
operating table, and dissect him carefully. 
VVhat are the causes which are mostly 
responsible for producing apathy, almost 
antipathy, in the listener ? Faults of " pro- 
duction " and " execution n which have to do 

by CiC 


purely with the technical side of the art we 
will ignore, confining ourselves to those 
which deal with, firstly, the rendering of the 
music, and, secondly, that of the words. 

Of the first, perhaps the most common 
fault is that of the voice remaining " forte " 
throughout the composition. Another trial 
is the piece in which uniform tempo is sus- 
tained from the first to the last note. Again, 
as regards the manner of rendering the 
music, a graceful " legato" is undoubtedly a 
consummation devoutly to be wished, being 
the foundation of all good singing, but, if 
adhered to without deviation from beginning 
to end, it is apt to become wearisome. 

Of the second (the rendering of the words), 
perhaps the most trying of all faults is that 
of singing line after line without the accen- 
tuation of any syllables. The reason is this. 
In all human speech the emphasizing of the 
most important words, and in a less degree of 
those of secondary importance, is a universal 
characteristic. Without it speaking would 
lose half its significance. In the same way 
singing without any accents sounds equally 

Scarcely less trying is it to hear verse after 
verse, and often, alas, song after song, rendered 
with exactly the same " timbre," or tone- 
colour. It is conducive to the most extreme 
monotony, and certainly conveys to the un- 
happy listener the idea that the vocalist is 
incapable of giving vent to the smallest 
particle of feeling or expression. 

Now, upon examining the above faults, one 
or more of which will be found in every dull 
singer, it does not take long to discover 
Original from 



that one factor is present in all — " Sameness." 
There has been a sameness of quantity, 
tempo, manner, matter, or quality. 

From this it would need no very daring 
reasoner to conclude that the " sameness " 
probably caused the dullness, and that con- 
sequently one might banish the dullness by 
removing the " sameness," introducing change 
and contrast in its place. As a matter of 
fact this is the case. Variety of phrasing 
and of expression is absolutely necessary if 
the singer is to hold the attention of his 

Having arrived, then, at the conclusion 
that, if a vocalist is to hold the attention of 
the listener by appealing to the intellect 
instead of merely to the ear, his singing must 
exhibit constant change and contrast, let us 
investigate the various ways in which this 
result may be obtained in phrasing and 

Charles Santley, whose name has been ever 
associated with what is highest and best in 
music, defines phrasing in the following 
terms :— 

"It is the art of correctly distinguishing 
the outlines and periods, which, so to speak, 
serve to represent the melody in relief. For 
the singer it consists in taking breath at the 
proper time and place, so that the phrase 
may appear executed as a single whole. 
This," he adds, " can only come from prac- 
tice under the guidance of experienced 

Certainly without good phrasing there can 
be no beauty of singing from an artistic 
point of view, and only those artists who 
have properly studied it can possibly expect 
to reveal the inmost meaning of the com- 
poser. A phrase is practically a musical 
sentence : there must be proper accentuation 
of certain notes which are meant to stand 
out, and there must be various degrees of 
force, otherwise the passage will be without 

This brings us to the first method by 
which variety may be obtained in singing. 

(a) Change in the volume of sound. Roughly 
there are five alternatives — fortissimo, forte, 

mezza voce, piano, pianissimo, and the choice 
of these must be subject to the feeling of the 
music and poetry. We have said that there 
are five degrees, but the possible gradations 
of tone lying between the two limits, pian- 
issimo and fortissimo, are more or less in- 
definite. To obtain full command over 
these it is necessary to practise the messa di 
voce, or so-called "swelled" note, which 
would be more completely described by the 
term, a "swelled-and-diminished " note. 

The correct method of producing this 
effect has been thus described by Manuel 
Garcia : " The sounds should begin very 
softly, and by degrees acquire increasing 
force till they are at their loudest, which 
should happen at 
exactly half their 
length ; then the 
process should be 
reversed. At first it 
is necessary to cut 
the exercise in half, 
to swell a sound 
in one breath, and 
diminish it in 

The centenarian 
further used to lay 
down the rule that 
whenever a long 
note occurred in a 
composition it 
should be treated 
in one of three 
ways : either it 
should increase 
from piano to forte, 
or commencing 
forte die away to 
pianissimo, or be 
sung as a " messa 
di voce." 

Here it may be 
well to call atten- 
tion to two things 
which, during his 
work as a teacher 
of singing, the 






Original from 






LAtAN W^lCtj" 

present writer has 
often found to 
have been mis- 
understood. The 
first of these is the 
meaning of " cres- 
cendo " and " di- 
minuendo." He 
has found that a 
large percentage 
of pupils have 
looked on the 
words as referring 
to tempo. Hence, 
until the error has 
been pointed out, 
they have treated 
them as synony- 
m o u s with 
"quicker" and 
"slower." The 
idea is quite incor- 
rect, for the terms 
refer purely to the 
force of the tone, 
and are an injunc 
tion to sing gradu- 
ally louder and 
softer respectively. 
The music, indeed, 
often demands 
that a crescendo 
and " ritardando " 
shall be given at the same time. That is 
to say, while the tone is being increased the 
tempo is being slackened. 

The other point is one of production, in 
connection with singing "forte" and " piano/' 
1 , There is a tendency with many to open the 
mouth very wide for a loud note, and almost to 
close it for a soft one. The volume of tone, 
however, has no connection with the size of 
the mouth, since it depends purely on the 
expansion of the pharynx and of the vesti- 
bule of the larynx. 

"Whether our singing be loud or soft," 
Manuel Garcia writes in that invaluable 

by Google 

book which he modestly styles " Hints on 
Singing," "the mouth should be opened by 
the natural fall of the jaw. This movement, 
which separates the jaws by the thickness of 
a finger and leaves the lips alone, gives the 
mouth an easy and natural form. The ex- 
aggerated opening favours neither low nor 
high notes. In the latter case it may help 
the vocalist to scream, but that is not sing- 
ing ; the face loses charm, and the voice 
assumes a violent and vulgar tone." 

If, on the other hand, the mouth is closed 
too much, the voice at once assumes a thin, 
" dental " tone, which is the reverse of 

Often in singing forte 4t is deemed ad- 
visable to give greater intensity to the tone 
by increasing the pressure of the breath, but 
this does not actually increase the volume. 
As already stated, Senor Garcia, who is 
acknowledged by all musicians to have been 
the greatest teacher of the last seventy years, 
affirms clearly that the increase is solely the 
result of the expansion of the pharynx. 

We now come to the second method by 
which variety may be obtained : — 

(b) Changes in tempo. These must be 
made with the utmost discretion. To launch 
out into making perpetual little alterations in 
time throughout the piece, quickening here, 
slowing up there, without rhyme or reason, is 
the sign of a poor singer. The great artist 
is a great timist, and is found to interfere but 
rarely with the tempo of a piece. Conse- 
quently when he does so he produces a 
marked effect. It is necessary to make up 
the mind in advance where the words and 
music seem to demand a quickening or 
retarding of the time, or a pausing on some 
note. When one is satisfied that this altera- 
tion will be effective and at the same time 
artistic — not a mere claptrap attempt to gain 
the vulgar applause of the ignorant — then let 
there be no half measures; make the change 
definite, steady, and pronounced. 

"Tempo rubato " does not properly come 
under this head, since the displacement of 

Original from 





values occurs in the melody alone. The 
accompaniment is kept strictly to time 
throughout, the lengthening of certain sylla- 
bles being equalized by the shortening of 
others. It is a style of singing principally 
useful for the interpretation of strong feeling, 
being governed by the accent which is given 
in ordinary speech. The subject will be 
referred to later under another heading. 
Next we come to 

(c) Changes in melody. When a passage 
of notes occurs a second time during a song 
it is sometimes advisable to make changes by 
the introduction of turns, appoggiature, or 
trills, or by absolute alterations in the 
melody. The latter alternative must, how- 
ever, be adopted with the most irreproach 
able musical taste. It is but rarely resorted 
to save in the old Italian music, where con- 
siderable latitude was not merely allowed to 
the singer, but almost expected of him The 
accompanying examples will illustrate how the 
alterations may be made. They are typical 
of the many variants which the writer re- 
ceived from 

Seiior Garcia 

during the 

four precious 

years spent 

under the 


tuition. One 

occurs in the 

famous "Aria 

di Chiesa " of 

Stradella, the 

other in the 

pr i n cipal 

baritone air in the " Nozze 

di Figaro," "Vedrb, mentr' 

io sospiro." 

So much for changes in 
melody. In addition to 
these there are certain 

(d) Changes tn the man- 
ner of executing passages. 

(1) The "legato" is the 
most important of all, being 
the groundwork and domi- 
nant characteristic of all 
good vocalization. In it the 
notes are connected one 
to another with grace and 
smoothness, flowing with 
distinctness and evenness. 

The other four methods 
maybe looked on as varieties 
of colouring — (2) Marcato, 

Vol. xxxL-36. 

(3) portamento, (4) staccato, (5) aspirato. 
Of the mechanism by which these are pro- 
duced this is not a suitable place to write. 
It belongs to those realms of voice-pro- 
duction through which it is not proposed to 
conduct the reader on the present occasion. 
We will, therefore, pass on to 

(e) Changes in phrasing. Alterations are 
often possible in breathing places, whereby 
the recurrence of a melody may receive fresh 
treatment. The choice of these, however, is 
subject to certain strict rules, which are 
accepted canons of artistic singing. A 
breath must never be taken in the middle of 
a word, between an adjective and its related 
noun, in the middle of a verb, or between 
any words which are intimately united by 
their grammatical sense. Consequently the 
vocalist must replenish the breath only when 
the punctuation of words and music agrees. 
On the rare occasions when this is not 
possible, a half breath may be taken at a 
convenient place, but this must be done in 
such a way that it is not noticeable to the 

1. —Original Melody. 

eM p? ff 1 1 r fe e 

Si - 

dan - na - to nel fuo - co e-ter-no dal 

Treatment of Same Passage in Last Verse, 

tu - o ri - gor. 

Tempo rubato. 





fcfc_? 1 gate 

Si - a dan - na - to nel fuo - co e-ter- 





2.— Original Melody. 

forse an - cor per 



ftrT i fU 



ri-de-re, per ri-de - re di 

a in - fe 



Subsequent Treatment of Passage When It Recurs. 
Tempo rubato. 

s^*~^ ^ ft Jt^ ^M fi> 




Per da - re a me tor - men - to 

for - se an - cor 


per ri-de-re, per ri-de -tyfllf^l "^fift - a in - fe 


li - ci-ta. 






listener. Perhaps 
the most artistic 
way of attaining 
this result is to 
take up the 
melody again with 
strongly- increased 
emphasis after 
breathing, since 
this suggests a 
natural reason for 
the pause. In 
ordinary conversa- 
tion, and still 
more in acting 
and oratory, when 
it is intended to 
lay special stress 
upon a word, or 
to call particular 
attention to a 
phrase, it is often 
done by making a 
pause immediately 
before or after the 

We next come 

(f) Changes in 
a cc entua tio n of 
phrases. S i m S 
Reeves used to 
say, " A singer who does not recite or read 
the verses of a song aloud before attempting 
the music will never become a perfect artist." 
It would be difficult to over-estimate the 
importance of this preliminary. Manuel 
Garcia himself draws special attention to it 
when he refers to the preparation of a piece. 
"The vocalist," he says, "should read the 
words of the piece again and again till each 
finest shadow of meaning has been mastered* 
He must next recite them with perfect sim- 
plicity and self-abandonment The accent 
of truth apparent in the voice when speaking 
naturally is the basis of expression in singing. 
Light and shade, accent, sentiment, all 

become eloquent and persuasive. The imita- 
tion of instinctive impulse must, therefore, be 
the object of this special preparation." 

Seeing that a composer seeks his inspira- 
tion from the lines of the poet, and attempts 
to bring out in his music the various feelings 
which these have conveyed to him, it should 
be unnecessary to insist on the importance 
of every word being uttered by the vocalist 
with irreproachable distinctness. The listener 
should not have to strain his ears to catch 
one single phrase. Such has been the singing 
of Sims Reeves, Edward Lloyd, and Charles 
Santley, of Patti, Trebelli, and Antoinette 
Sterling, to mention but a few names taken 
at random. When listening to such artists 
as these there was never a moment's doubt 
as to what had been said. Clearness of 
enunciation, therefore, should be the aim of 
all. A book of words should be as unneces- 
sary in a concert-hall as a copy of the play 
at a theatre. 

In analyzing the words of a song it must 
be borne in mind that nearly every sentence 
is susceptible of varying treatment as regards 
its accentuation. The principal stress may 
be laid on any one of several words, each of 
which will give the sentence a different shade 
of meaning. This fact gives the singer a way 
of finding variety when a line or phrase 
appears several times in the song. 

Let us take as an illustration the well- 
known line in Lord Tennyson's exquisite 
poem, " Crossing the Bar " : "I hope to see 
my Pilot face to face." 

If the stress be laid on the first word, it 
might convey at least two meanings, suggest- 
ing either that " Others do not hope to see 
Him, but I do," or else that " I too hope, 
as others hope." Which of these two was 
implied would be determined by the tone 
of voice in which it was said. This question 
of tone or " timbre," as conveying the different 
shades of expression, will be considered in 
the next and final section. 

Now, by saying " I hope to see," we intro- 
duce an element of doubt, "I hope to ste n 




suggests " I have always believed in His 
existence, but with death there will come the 
clearing up of all doubt" " I hope to see 
my Pilot" brings out the continuation of the 
metaphor drawn between dying and " putting 
out to sea," while the emphasis on "face to 
face " gives still another meaning. 

These, then, are the possible accents in 
this particular line, and other phrases will be 
found to have the same in a lesser or greater 
degree. For instance, the sentence, " I 
thought she loved me," would have five 
distinct shades of meaning through the stress 
being laid on each of the five words in turn ; 
this quite apart from the further changes 
which could be suggested by introducing 
variations in the tone of voice. When 
several alternatives of stress are possible (the 
composer will have already eliminated some 
by applying certain words to the strong 
beats of the bar, others to the weak) the 
artistic powers of the singer are brought out 
by the way in which he rejects some accentua- 
tions and retains others. The individuality 
of rendering finds perhaps most scope in the 
exercising of a wise choice over this and over 
the further question of tone-colours, or 

(g) Changes of M timbre" 

It is well known that the speaking voice 
takes on a different " tone " and inflection 
according to our actual feelings at any parti- 
cular time. Take, for instance, a single word 
such as " go." Whether the utterance is 
prompted by love or hate, joy or grief, anger, 
fear, or any other feeling, Nature imparts to 
the voice a distinct difference of "intonation" 

One of the singer's principal aims must be 
the cultivation of the power to recognise the 
quality of tone which results from every pos- 
sible individual feeling. Then he must set 
himself to acquire absolute command over 
these various changes, so that he may be able 
to reproduce them at will, for upon this 
vocal expression depends to a large extent. 
With this means at his command he will be 
able to give artistic expression to his singing, 
conveying to the listener a tone-picture of 
his feelings. He 
will, of course, 
have previously 
studied the 
words, tried to 
penetrate the 
poet's inmost 
meaning, and 
decided what ren- 
dering he shall 
give, bearing in 

mind throughout that he must aim at variety 
of expression. 

11 Singing a song," Sims Reeves said, " is 
like painting a picture. The voice conveys 
to the mind the beauty and meaning of a 
song, as the eye conveys to the mind the 
beauty and meaning of a picture. But if 
the performer sings in one uniform colour of 
tone from beginning to end, the result is 
monotony and ineffectiveness. Light and 
shade in singing do not consist in making 
passages loud and soft alternately; they con- 
sist in using the various colours of the voice 
to suit the sentiment of the words. The 
1 mezza voce ' is of 
great use in this 

To avoid mo- 
notony, then, one 
must analyze the 
poem, and if pos- 
sible find some dis- 
tinct change of 
feeling for each 
fresh % group of 
ideas. It is not 
sufficient to ask 
oneself, "What 
class of song is 
this ? What is the 
primary feeling of 
the poet ? Is it a 
note of love, of joy, 
of grief, of patriot- 
ism?" Having 
settled that a song 
primarily denotes, 
say, love, we must 
go further and con- 
sider what it con- 
notes. What, then, 
are the feelings 
which anyone may 
experience when 
deeply in love? May 
he not be in turn 
wistful, gentle, ten- 
der, sympathetic 






*** — -«» 






loving, passionate, hopeful that his love may 
be returned, fearful lest it be rejected ? May 
he not grow anxious, jealous, angry, mock- 
ing ; and may not this be followed by regret, 
pleading, happiness ? There is indeed 
abundance of choice before one. Given 
the ability to reproduce the "timbre" or 
tone-colour suggesting the various feelings, 
there remains but the process of selecting 
and rejecting the various possibilities. The 
choice will depend on how far he is educated, 
refined, well-read, poetic, imaginative, and 
generally artistic. 

To recapitulate the foregoing pages, if the 
vocalist would attain artistic success he must 
possess, in the first instance, a good voice. 
The voice, if it is there, can be enormously 
improved by training. But if none is there 
in the first instance, no teacher, however 
skilled, can bring one into being. It is 
purely and absolutely a gift of Nature. A 
voice is born, not made. 

Assuming that it exists, the possessor must 
first learn to produce it properly.. A few 
preliminary weeks should suffice to clear 
away the faults sufficiently to allow the pupil 
to pass on to the Art of Singing, of which 
voice-production is but the threshold. While 
this study is being pursued attention must 
continue to be given to the production of 
the voice, until all the faults have been 
completely eradicated. 

The art of singing has been seen to consist 
of a technical and an aesthetical side, which 
must go hand in hand. The former involves 
a rather wearisome application to the exer- 
cises which are necessary in order to make 
the voice irreproachable in intonation, firm, 
strong, flexible, and extended. The aesthetical 
side, which is the most interesting part of 
the subject, has to do with the phrasing and 
artistic expression, the true interpretation of 
the poet and of the composer's inmost 

Here, then, we have the field of study which 
lies before every singer who wishes to appeal 
to the intellect and to the artistic feeling of 
the audience. The voice is the gift of Nature, 
the rest may be acquired by study. 

If he would appeal to the heart of the 
hearer that is another matter. To make 
others feel deeply one must feel deeply 
oneself. There must be an electric current 
of sympathy flowing out to the listener, and 
this can be generated only by the singer 

The truth of Nature alone can awake 
an answer in the breasts of others. That 
indefinable something which grips, stirs, and 
moves to tears — that power which Antoinette 
Sterling had to so remarkable an extent — 
cannot be learned. It owes its origin to a 
power which is far beyond the control of 

by Google 

Original from 

The Chronicles of the Strand Club. 

In the above group, a number of Members of the Club have attempted, with more or less success, to delineate themselves, 
order that there should be no mistake in identity, each artist has thoughtfully subjoined his autograph. 



T the last meeting of the 
Strand Club the new dado, 
composed of full-length por- 
traits in silhouette of the 
pictorial members of the Club, 
j ustly 

attracted great atten- 
tion. Some of the 
"likenesses" of the 
artists by themselves 
(a number of which 
are reproduced in the 
heading of this pre- 
sent chronicle) were 
criticised as not suf- 
ficiently striking, but 
it was urged, on the 
other hand, that very 
few r men are able to 
hit themselves off to 

"Why," asked 
Boyle, " should the 
artists have it all 
their own way? 
Why shouldn't 
the literary mem- 
bers figure on the 

"What," exclaimed 
Mullins, " a series of 

autograph word-pictures! No, no; it wouldn't 
be decorative enough. But if you will 
bear with me for half an hour I should 
like to contribute a couple of additional 
portraits. You remember the famous ' Two 

Macs/ of music-hall 
celebrity ? Well, here 
are two other Max 
whose identity I leave 
you to guess." Mullins 
had not hitherto been 
suspected of skill in 
draughtsmanship, but 
his caricatures of a 
certain popular 
novelist and a well- 
known wit and critic 
were voted extremely 

The conversation 
ran on motors and 
motoring, and a new 
member, Mr. Sidney 
Aldridge, obliged 
with the follow- 
ing :— 

Nervous Lady (en- 
gaging cabby): 
"Now, are you quite 
sure he won't shy at 


bekrbohm. ' l motor-cars ? 





Cabby: "Tm? Lor* bless yer no, lady; 
why, he wasn't even nervous of steam-engines 
when they fust came in." 

While relating this little dialogue the artist 
proceeded to illustrate it in the usual manner 
enjoined upon all pictorial members of the 
Strand Club. 

Emberton : Some of the answers one 
hears are decidedly funny. Tax-collectors 
and rent-collectors, for instance, have to put 
up with some singular excuses. Would Mr. 
Harrison kindly delineate for 
me on the drawing-board a 
rent -col lector ? (Whereupon 
the artist named, nothing 
loath, proceeded to acquit 
himself of his task.) This 
rent -collector is interviewing 
two ragamuffins, a boy and 
a girl, on the doorstep. 
Thank you, Mr. Harrison ; 
most lifelike ! On being 
asked if the head of the 
household is within, the little 
girl delivers herself of the 
following :• — 

11 If you're the man for the 
rent, mother's ill in bed and 
can't see yer ; but if you're 
come for the insurance 
money mother's gone out 
washing and won't be 'ome 
till late." 

The last Club meeting was 
rendered memorable if for 
no other reason than by- the 
reading of a communication 
from the renowned American Harrison's illustration or 

humorist " Zim," 
or, to give him 
his rightful ap- 
pellation, Mr. 
Eugene Zimmer- 
man, of Judge r 
accompanied by 
a lightning 
sketch x certified 
before a notary 
public to have 
been produced 
in " ten or more 
seconds," The 
reason, accord- 
ing to Zimmer- 
man, why he 
doesn't oftener 
visit England is 
the difficulty of 
obtaining the 
accommodation to which he has been 
accustomed at Horse Heads, in New York. 
It was in this connection that he related an 
anecdote of a fellow-citizen of Horse Heads, 
who paid a visit to New York and put up at 
one of the best hotels A friend came and 
found him still in his room, although it was 
a fine day and this was his first visit to the 

" My dear man," he expostulated, " what 
are you doing here ? Why don't you go out 


Original from 






and see the sights of the city ? * " Go out ? 
Go out ? " was the reply. " Look here. I'm 
paying three dollars a day for this room, an 5 
I'm not going to let the landlord 
make anything out o' me ! " 

After Zimmerman's letter had been 
read Brichard was called upon to tell 
a story. 

Brichard : There was a strike on 
a railway, and they had put on a 
new engine-driver. He did his best, 
but couldn't somehow manage to 
bring the train alongside the plat- 
form. Once he ran some distance 
too far, and then, putting back, 
didn't travel quite far enough. The 
station - master watched his efforts 
for a while, and then he said, pity- 
ingly ;— 

" Just bide whaur ye are, Thamas. 
We'll shift the station." 

Inasmuch as the scene of the 
foregoing narrative was laid in the 
North, it seemed a fitting subject 
to be dealt with pictorially by a 
native of that region. Wherefore 
the Chairman called upon Waters, 
who produced the accompanying 
sketch on the instant. 

Dolamore's brother has just come 
back from Southern Nigeria, and 
Dolamore told us of an incident 
which is said to have occurred to 
an aristocratic British trooper who 
happened to fall into the hands of 
cannibals. He was a most polite 
man and never liked to give offence 

to anybody. He 
allowed himself 
to be placed in a 
large iron pot, 
smiling plea- 
santly all the 
while. At last, 
watching his 
captor's prepara- 
tions with some 
misgivings, he 
broke out into 
terms of mild 
rebuke : — 

11 I say, old 
fellow, it's 
awfully nice of 
you, doncher- 
know, to want to 
give me a nice 
war m bath; 
but, hang it 

all, I say, I've got my boots on I " 

This thrilling narrative of innate politeness, 

which no doubt caused the heart of the 






personage endeavouring to grasp 
the purport of a message over the 
telephone. When the sketch was 
finished, the artist, with a charm- 
ing French accent, delivered the 
monologue, which was quite one 
of the funniest things of the even- 

Huard : Man at the Telephone : 
" I can't quite hear what you say. 
What ? Two hundred ? Yes, ye-s ! 
I should be pleased. First thing 
in the morning. Most happy, I'm 
sure ! But two hundred what ? 
Diamonds ! (Abruptly and with 
disgust.) Ring off ! I am a manu- 
facturer of sausages." 

The allusion to a British trooper 
suggested to Hesketh a yarn about 
a dashing young subaltern who 

savage to relent, was vividly 
portrayed by the talented 

Although Zimmerman was 
absent in the flesh we had an 
almost equally distinguished 
foreign member in the person 
of M. Huard, of Le Journal 
Amusant, who most courteously 
expressed his willingness to 
illustrate on the spot any jeu 
d'esprit the point of which he 
could grasp. 

Huard : If you will let me, I 
think I can make you a rough 
sketch and will illustrate it after- 
wards by a brief monologue. 

The Club expressed its entire 
approval, and M. Huard, with- 
out further ado, strode to the 
easel and sketched a portly 




had just returned from service in 
some outlandish part of the world. 
He turned up at a dinner-party in 
London, astonishing all his sisters, 
cousins, and aunts by a most 
eccentric hirsute adornment. " Oh, 
Charlie," they cried in chorus, 
" what in the world are you wear- 
ing round your neck ? " " Aw, 
aw," declared the youth ; " quite 
against wegulations to wear hair 
on the face 'cept a moustache- 
hate s. moustache, so have gone 





in for a charming golden fringe. Rather sets 
me off, don't you think ? Eh, what ? " 

Dolamore declared he didn't believe a 
word of it, but, nevertheless, as Chairman 
he was obliged to give it some stamp of 
reality by calling upon Baumer to sketch 
the incident. 

Lorrison: This 
is a true story. 
A well-known 
sculptor took his 
two youngsters to 
the unveiling of 
a new statue the 
other day. The 
proceedings ob- 
viously impressed 
them. Coming 
unannou need 
into the nur 
sery, their mother 
beheld half-a- 
dozen children 
assembled. At 
one end of 
the room was a 
powdered from 
head to foot 
with white flour 
in an imposing 
attitude, while 

another infant had apparently 
just removed a sheet from 
his person and was crying, 
* 4 Hooray, hooray ! Ladies, 
Gentlemen, and Feller Citi- 
zens, — Here's a statue of 
General Booth in the aston- 
ishin* act of defying Jack-the- 
Ripper to take his money- 

In accordance with the 
demand of the Chairman, 
Furniss strode to the easel 
and in a few minutes pro- 
duced the accompanying 

Bert Thomas: Speaking of 
the tog — what, was no one 
speaking of the fog? — well, 
no matter — speaking of the 
fog, this little anecdote I 
heard the other day struck me as being not 
unfunny. Jones and Robinson on a foggy 
night volunteered to see Brown home. They 
left him with injunctions to keep close to 
and follow the railings. Unfortunately, he 
stumbled against the circular railing sur- 
rounding a statue. 
After going round 
and round for 
some consider- 
able time he lost 
hope and ejacu- 
lated, "The mean 
villains! They 
told me it was only 
a hundred yards 
home if I stuck to 
the railings, and 
I'm b- bothered 
i f I haven't 
covered seven- 
teen miles ! n 

The artist fur- 
ther explained his 
story by the ad- 
joining sketch, 
which he dashed 
off with the 
•celerity of a 
barber shaving a 
customer against 
time for a wager. 


Vol. xxxl-37. 

by Google 

Original from 


I P-"" u 


and Mrs. Bowman had just 
finished their third game of 
draughts. It had been a 
difficult game for Mr. Clark, 
the lady's mind having been 
so occupied with other matters that he 
had had great difficulty in losing. Indeed, it 
was only by pushing an occasional piece of 
his own off the board that he had succeeded. 
" A penny for your thoughts, Amelia," he 
said, at last. 

Mrs. Bowman smiled faintly. M They 
were far away," she confessed. 

Mr, Clark assumed an expression of great 
solemnity ; allusions of this kind to the late 
Mr. Bowman were only too frequent. He 
was fortunate when they did not grow into 
reminiscences of a career too blameless for 
successful imitation. 

11 1 suppose," said the widow, slowly — " I 
suppose I ought to tell you : I've had a 

Mr. Clark's face relaxed. 
" It took me back to the old scenes," con- 
tinued Mrs. Bowman, dreamily. " I have 
never kept anything back from you, 
Nathaniel. I told you all about the first 
man I ever thought anything of — Charlie 

Mr. Clark cleared his throat. u You did," 

Copyright, 1906, by W. W. Jacobs, 

Digitized byVjOO; 

he said, a trifle hoarsely. " More than 

" I've just had a letter from him," said Mrsi 
Bowman, simpering. " Fancy, after all these 
years ! Poor fellow, he has only just heard 
of my husband's death, and, by the way ha 
writes " 

She broke off and drummed nervously on 
the table. 

" He hasn't heard about me, you mean," 
said Mr, Clark, after waiting to give her time 
to finish. 

11 How should he ? " said the widow. 

"If he heard one thing, he might have 
heard the other," retorted Mr. Clark. 
" Better write and tell him. Tell him that 
in six weeks' time you'll be Mrs. Clark. 
Then, perhaps, he won't write again." 

Mrs, Bowman sighed. " I thought, after 
all these years, that he must be dead," she 
said, slowly, " or else married. But he says 
in his letter that he has kept single for my 

" Well, he'll be able to go on doing it," 
said Mr. Clark ; " it'll come easy to him 
after so much practice." 

11 He — he says in his letter that he is 
coming to see me," said the widow, in a low 
voice, " to — to — this evening." 

11 Coming to see you ? " repeated Mr. 
Clark, sharply. " What for ? " 

in the United Stater of America. 




"To talk over old times, he says," was 
the reply. " I expect he has altered a great 
deal ; he was a fine-looking fellow — and so 
dashing. After I gave him up he didn't care 
what he did. The last I heard of him he 
had gone abroad." 

Mr. Clark muttered something under his 
breath, and, in a mechanical fashion, began 
to build little castles with the draughts. He 
was just about to add to an already swaying 
structure when a thundering rat-tat-tat at the 
door dispersed the draughts to the four 
corners of the room. The servant opened 
the door, and the next moment ushered in 
Mrs. Bowman's visitor. 

A tall, good-looking man in a frock-coat, 
with a huge spray of mignonette in his 
button-hole, met the critical gaze of Mr. 
Clark. He paused at the door and, striking 
an attitude, pronounced in tones of great 
amazement the Christian name of the lady 
of the house. 

" Mr. Tucker ! " said the widow*, blushing, 

" The same girl," said the visitor, looking 
round wildly, M the same as the day she left 
me. Not a bit changed ; not a hair 

He took her extended hand and, bending 
over it, kissed it respectfully. 

" It's — it's very strange to see you again, 
Mr. Tucker," said Mrs. Bowman, withdraw- 
ing her hand in some confusion. 

" Mr. Tucker ! " said that gentleman, re- 
proachfully ; "it used to be Charlie." 

Mrs. Bowman 
blushed again, and, 
with a side glance 
at the frowning Mr. 
Clark, called her visi- 
tor's attention to him 
and introduced them. 
The gentlemen 
shook hands stiffly. 

" Any friend of 
yours is a friend of 
mine," said Mr. 
Tucker, with a 
pa t ro n izing air. 
" How are you, sir ? " 

Mr. Clark replied 
that he was well, and, 
after some hesitation, 
said that he hoped he 
was the same. Mr. 
Tucker took a chair 
and, leaning back, 
stroked his huge 
moustache and de- 
voured the widow 

with his eyes. u Fancy seeing you again I " 
said the latter, in some embarrassment. 
11 How did you find me out ? " 

11 It's a long story," replied the visitor, 
"but I always had the idea that we should 
meet again. Your photograph has been with 
me all over the world. In the backwoods of 
Canada, in the bush of Australia, it has been 
my one -comfort and guiding star. If ever I 
was tempted to do wrong, I used to take 
your photograph out and look at it." 

" I s'pose you took it out pretty often ? " 
said Mr. Clark, restlessly. "To look at, I 
mean," he added, hastily, as Mrs. Bowman 
gave, him an indignant glance. 

" Every day," said the visitor, solemnly. 
"Once when I injured myself out hunting, 
and was five days without food or drink, it 
was the only thing that kept me alive." 

Mr, Clark's question as to the size of the 
photograph was lost in Mrs, Bowman's 
exclamations of pity. 

" I once lived on two ounces of gruel and 
a cup of milk a day for ten days," he said, 
trying to catch the widow's eye. " After the 
ten days " 

" When the Indians found me I was 
delirious," continued Mr. Tucker, in a hushed 
voice, "and when I came to my senses I 
found that they were calling me * Amelia.' " 

Mr. Clark attempted to relieve the situation 
by a jocose inquiry as to whether he was 
wearing a moustache at the time, but Mrs. 
Bowman frowned him down. He began to 


Original from 

by LiOOgle 




whistle under his breath, and Mrs. Bowman 
promptly said, " H'sh J " 

44 But how did you discover me?" she 
inquired, turning again to the visitor. 

44 Wandering over the world," continued 
Mr. Tucker, 44 here to-day and there to- 
morrow, and unable to settle down any- 
where, I returned to Northtown about two 
years ago. Three days since, in a tramcar, I 
heard your name mentioned. I pricked up 
my ears and listened ; when I heard that you 
were free I could hardly contain myself. I 
got into conversation with the lady and 
obtained your address, and after travelling 
fourteen hours here I am." 

44 How very extraordinary 1 " said the widow, 
44 1 wonder who it could have been ? Did 
she mention her name ? " 

Mr. Tucker shook his head. Inquiries as 
to the lady's appearance, age, and dress were 
alike fruitless. 4I There was a mist before 
my eyes," he explained. 44 1 couldn't realize 
it. I couldn't believe in my good fortune." • 

44 1 can't think " began Mrs. Bowman. 

44 What does it matter?" inquired Mr. 
Tucker, softly. 44 Here we are together 
again, with life all before us and the misun- 
derstandings of long ago all forgotten." 

Mr. Clark cleared his throat preparatory 
to speech, but a peremptory glance from 
Mrs. Bowman restrained him. 

44 1 thought you were dead," she said, 
turning to the smiling Mr. Tucker. 4I I never 
dreamed of seeing you again." 

44 Nobody would," chimed in Mr. Clark. 
14 When do you go back ? " 

44 Back ? " said the visitor. 44 Where ? " 

44 Australia," replied Mr. Clark, with a glance 
of defiance at the widow. "You must ha' 
been missed a great deal all this time." 

Mr. Tucker regarded him with a haughty 
stare. Then he bent towards Mrs. Bowman. 

44 Do you wish me to go back ? " he asked, 

44 We don't wish either one way or the 
other," said Mr. Clark, before the widow 
could speak. 44 It don't matter to us." 

44 We?" said Mr. Tucker, knitting his 
brows and gazing anxiously at Mrs. Bowman. 
44 We f " 

44 We are going to be married in six weeks' 
time," said Mr. Clark. 

Mr. Tucker looked from one to the other 
in silent misery ; then, shielding his eyes with 
his hand, he averted his head. Mrs. Bow- 
man, with her hands folded in her lap, regarded 
him with anxious solicitude. 

44 1 thought perhaps you ought to know," 
said Mr. Clark. 

by Google 

Mr. Tucker sat bolt upright and gazed at 
him fixedly. 44 1 wish you joy," he said, in a 
hollow voice. 

44 Thankee," said Mr. Clark ; 44 we expect to 
be pretty happy." He smiled at Mrs. Bow- 
man, but she mad* no response. Her looks 
wandered from one to the other— from the 
good-looking, interesting companion of her 
youth to the short, prosaic little man who was 
exulting only too plainly in his discomfiture. 

Mr. Tucker rose with a sigh. 44 Good-bye," 
he said, extending his hand. 

44 You are not going— yet ? " said the widow. 

Mr. Tucker's low-breathed 44 1 must " was 
just audible. The widow renewed her ex- 

44 Perhaps he has got a train to catch," said 
the thoughtful Mr. Clark. 

44 No, sir," said Mr. Tucker. "As a 
matter of fact, I had taken a room at the 
Georg€ Hotel for a week, but I suppose I 
had better get back home again." 

44 No ; why should you ? " said Mrs. 
Bowman, with a rebellious glance at Mr. 
Clark. "Stay, and come in and see me 
sometimes and talk over old times. And 
Mr. Clark will be glad to see you, I'm sure. 
Won't you Nath— Mr. Clark ? " 

44 1 shall be— delighted," said Mr. Clark, 
staring hard at the mantelpiece. 44 De- 

Mr. Tucker thanked them both, and after 
groping for some time for the hand of Mr. 
Clark, who was still intent upon the mantel- 
piece, pressed it warmly and withdrew. 
Mrs. Bowman saw him to the door, and a 
low-voiced colloquy, in which Mr. Clark 
caught the word 44 afternoon," ensued. By 
the time the widow returned to the room he 
was busy building with the draughts again. 

Mr. Tucker came the next day at three 
o'clock, and the day after at two. On the 
third morning he took Mrs. Bowman out for 
a walk, airily explaining to Mr. Clark, who 
met them on the way, that they had come 
out to call for him. The day after, when 
Mr. Clark met them returning from a walk, 
he was assured that his silence of the day 
before was understood to indicate a distaste 
for exercise. 

44 And, you see, I like a long walk," said 
Mrs. Bowman, "and you are not what I 
should call a good walker." 

44 You never used to complain," said Mr, 
Clark ; 44 in fact, it was generally you that 
used to suggest turning back." 

44 She wants to be amused as well," re- 
marked Mr. Tucker ; 44 then she doesn't feel 
the fatigue." 

Original from 





Mr. Clark glared at him, and then, shortly 
declining Mrs. Bowman's invitation to accom- 
pany them home, on the ground that he re- 
quired exercise, proceeded on his way. He 
carried himself so stiffly, and his manner was 
so fierce, that a well-meaning neighbour who 
had crossed the road to join him, and offer a 
little sympathy if occasion offered, talked of 
th^ weather for five minutes and inconse- 
quently faded away at a corner. 

Trimington as a whole watched the affair 
with amusement, although Mr. Clark's friends 
adopted an inflection of voice in speaking to 
him which reminded him strongly of funerals. 
Mr. Tucker's week was up, but the landlord 
of the George was responsible for the state- 
ment that he had postponed his departure 

Matters being in this state, Mr. Clark 
went round to the widow's one evening with 
the air of a man who has made up his mind 
to decisive action. He entered the room 
with a bounce and, hardly deigning to notice 
the greeting of Mr, Tucker, planted himself in 
a chair and surveyed him grimly. " I thought 
I should find you here," he remarked. 

u Well, I always am here, ain't I ? " re- 
torted Mr. Tucker, removing his cigar and 
regarding him with mild surprise. 

11 Mr. Tucker is my friend," interposed 
Mrs. Bowman. " I am the only friend he 
has got in Trimington. It's natural he should 
be here." 

by Google 

Mr. Clark 
quailed at her 

14 People are 
beginning to 
talk," he mut- 
tered, feebly. 

"Talk?" said 
the widow, with 
an air of mystifi- 
cation belied by 
her colour. 
11 What about ? " 
Mr. Clark 
quailed again. 
"About — about 
our wedding," he 

Mr, Tucker 
and the widow 
glances. Then 
the former took 
his cigar from 
his mouth and, 
with a hopeless 
gesture, threw it into the grate. 

" Plenty of time to talk about that," said 
Mrs. Bowman, after a pause. 

"Time is going," remarked Mr. Clark. 
" I was thinking, if it was agreeable to you, 
of putting up the banns to-morrow." 

"There — there's no hurry," was the reply. 
11 * Marry in haste, repent at leisure,' " 
quoted Mr. Tucker, gravely. 

11 Don't you want me to put 'em up ? " 
demanded Mr. Clark, turning to Mrs. 

"There's no hurry," said Mrs. Bowman 
again. " I — I want time to think." 

Mr. Clark rose and stood over her, and 
after a vain attempt to meet his gaze she 
looked down at the carpet 

" I understand," he said, loftily. " I am 
not blind." 

" It isn't my fault," murmured the widow, 
drawing patterns with her toe on the carpet. 
"One can't help their feelings." 

Mr. Clark gave a short, hard laugh. 
11 What about my feelings ? " he said, severely. 
11 What about the life you have spoiled ? I 
couldn't have believed it of you." 

" I'm sure I'm very sorry," murmured Mrs. 
Bowman, " and anything that I can do I will. 
I never expected to see Charles again. And 
it was so sudden ; it took me unawares. I 
hope we shall still be friends." 

11 Friends ! " exclaimed Mr. Clark, with 
extraordinary vigour. " With him ? " 
Origin alfrorn 




He folded his arms and regarded the pair 
with a bitter smile ; Mrs. Bowman, quite un- 
able to meet his eyes, still gazed intently at 
the floor, 

"You have made me the laughing-stock 
of Trimington," pursued Mr. Clark. " You 
have wounded me in my tenderest feelings ; 
you have destroyed my faith in women. I 
shall never be the same man again. I hope 
that you will never find out what a terrible 
mistake you've made." 

Mrs. Bowman made a noise half-way 
between a sniff and a sob ; Mr. Tucker's sniff 
was unmistakable. 

" I will return your presents to-morrow," 
said Mr. Clark, rising. " Good bye, for 
ever ! " 

He paused at the door, but Mrs. Bowman 
did not look up. A second later the front 
door closed and she heard him walk rapidly 

For some time after his departure she 
preserved a silence which Mr. Tucker 
endeavoured in vain to break. He took a 
chair by her side, and at the third attempt 
managed to gain possession of her hand. 

" I deserved all he said," she cried, at last 
"Poor fellow, I hope he will do nothing 

" No, no," said Mr. Tucker, soothingly. 

" His eyes were quite wild," continued the 
widow. "If anything happens to him I shall 
never forgive myself I have spoilt his 

Mr. Tucker pressed her hand and spoke of 
the well-known refining influence a hopeless 
passion for a good woman had on a man. 
He cited his own case as an example. 

" Disappointment spoilt my life so far as 
worldly success goes," he said, softly, "but 
no doubt the discipline was good for me." 

Mrs. Bowman smiled faintly, and began to 
be a little comforted. Conversation shifted 
from the future of Mr. Clark to the past of 
Mr. Tucker ; the widow's curiosity as to the 
extent of the latter's worldly success remain- 
ing unanswered by reason of Mr. Tucker's 
sudden remembrance of a bear-fight. 

Their future was discussed after supper, 
and the advisability of leaving Trimington 
considered at some length. The towns and 
villages of England were at their disposal; 
Mr. Tucker's business, it appeared, being 
independent of place. He drew a picture of 
life in a bungalow with modern improve- 
ments at some seaside town, and, the cloth 
having been removed, took oijt his pocket- 
book and, extracting an old envelope, drew 
plans on the back. 

by Google 

It was a delightful pastime and made Mrs. 
Bowman feel that she was twenty and begin- 
ning life again. She toyed with the pocket- 
book and complimented Mr. Tucker on his 
skill as a draughtsman. A letter or two fell 
out and she replaced them. Then a small 
newspaper cutting, which had fluttered out 
with them, met her eye. 

"A little veranda with roses climbing up 
it," murmured Mr. Tucker, still drawing, 
" and a couple of " 

His pencil was arrested by an odd, gasping 
noise from the widow. He looked up and 
saw her sitting stiffly in her chair. Her face 
seemed to have swollen and to be coloured 
in patches; her eyes were round and amazed. 

" Aren't you well ? " he inquired, rising in 

Mrs. Bowman opened her lips, but no 
sound came from them. Then she gave a 
long, shivering sigh. 

" Heat of the room too much for you ? * 
inquired the other, anxiously. 

Mrs. Bowman took another long, shivering 
breath. Still incapable of speech, she took 
the slip of paper in her trembling fingers and 
an involuntary exclamation of dismay broke 
from Mr. Tucker. She dabbed fiercely at 
her burning eyes with her handkerchief and 
read it again. 

"Tucker.— #" this should meet the rye oj 
Charles Tucker, who knew Amelia Wyborn 
twenty-five years ago, he will hear of something 
greatly to his advantage by communicating 
with N.C. y Royal Hotel, Northtown." 

Mrs. Bowman found speech at last 
" N. C. — Nathaniel Clark,"she said, in broken 
tones. " So that is where he went. Oh, 
what a fool I've been ! Oh, what a simple 

Mr. Tucker gave a deprecatory cough. 
" I — I had forgotten it was there," he said, 

" Yes," breathed the widow, " I can quite 
believe that." 

" I was going to show you later on," 
declared the other, regarding her carefully. 
" I was, really. I couldn't bear the idea of 
keeping a secret from you long." 

Mrs. Bowman smiled — a terrible smile. 
" The audacity of the man," she broke out, 
"to stand there and lecture me on my 
behaviour. To talk about his spoilt life, and 
all the time " 

She got up and walked about the room, 
angrily brushing aside the proffered atten- 
tions of Mr. Tucker. 

" Laughing-stock of Trimington, is he ? " 
she stormed. " He shall be more than that 





before I have done with him. The wicked- 
ness of the man ; the artfulness ! " 

. " That's what I thought," said Mr. Tucker, 
shaking his head. " I said to him—" 

"You're as bad," said the widow, turning 
on him fiercely. " All the time you two 
men were talking at each other you were 
laughing in your sleeves at me. And I sat 
there like a child taking it all in. I've no 
doubt you met every night and arranged 
what you were to do next day." 

Mr. Tucker's lips twitched. " I would do 
more than that to win you, Amelia," he said, 

" You'll have 
" Now I want 
the beginning, 

to, was 

the grim reply, 
to hear all about this from 
And don't keep anything 
from me, or it'll be the worse for you." 

She sat down again and motioned him to 

" When I saw the advertisement in the 
Northtown Chronicle" began Mr. Tucker, in 
a husky voice, " I danced with — - — " 

" Never mind about that," interrupted the 
widow, dryly. 

11 1 went to the hotel and saw Mr. 
Clark," resumed Mr. Tucker, somewhat 
crestfallen. M When I heard that you were 
a widow, all the old times came back to 
me again. The years fell from me like a 
mantle. Once again I saw myself walking 


with you over the footpath to Cooper's farm j 
once again I felt your hand in mine, Youi 

voice sounded in my ears " 

11 You saw Mr. Clark," the widow re- 
minded him. 

" He had heard all about our early 
love from you," said Mr. Tucker, 
and as a last desperate chance for 
freedom he had come 
down to try and hunt me 
up, and induce me to take 
you off his hands." 

Mrs. Bowman uttered a 
smothered exclamation. 

" He tempted me for 
two days," said Mr. 
Tucker, gravely. " The 
temptation was too great 
and I fell. Besides . that, 
I wanted to rescue you 
from the clutches of such 
a man." 

" Why didn't he tell me 
himself ? " inquired the 

" Just what I asked 
him," said the other. " but 
he said that you were much 
too fond of him to give him up. He is not 
worthy of you, Amelia ; he is fickle He has 
got his eye on another lady." 

"What?" said the widow, with sudden 

Mr. Tucker nodded mournfully. " Miss 
Hackbutt," he said, slowly. " I saw her the 
other day, and what he can see in her I can't 

" Miss Hackbutt ? " repeated the widow, 

in a smothered voice. " Miss " She 

got up and began to pace the room again, 

11 He must be blind," said Mr. Tucker, 

Mrs. Bowman stopped suddenly and stood 
regarding him. There was a light in her eye 
which made him feel anything but com- 
fortable. He was glad when she transferred 
her gaze to the clock. She looked at it so 
long that he murmured something about 

11 Good-bye," she said. 
Mr. Tucker began to repeat his excuses, 
but she interrupted him. " Not now," she 
said, decidedly. " I'm tired. Good night." 

Mr. Tucker pressed her hand. " Good 

night,' 1 he said, tenderly. " I am afraid the 

excitement has been too much for you. May 

I come round at the usual time to-morrow ? * 

" Yes," said the widow. 

She took the advertisement from the table 

Original from 




and, folding it carefully, placed it in her 

Mr. Tucker withdrew as she looked up. 

He walked back to the George deep in 
thought, and over a couple of pipes in bed 
thought over the events of the evening. He 
fell asleep at last and dreamed that he and 
Miss Hackbutt were being united in the 
bonds of holy matrimony by the Rev. 
Nathaniel Clark. 

The vague misgivings of the previous night 
disappeared in the morning sunshine. He 
shaved carefully and spent some time in 
the selection of a tie. Over an excellent 
breakfast he arranged further explanations 
and excuses for the appeasement of Mrs. 

He was still engaged on the task when he 
started to call on her. Half-way to the house 
he arrived at the conclusion that he was 
looking too cheerful. His face took on an 
expression of deep seriousness, only to give 
way the next 
moment to one of 
the blankest 
amazement. In 
front of him, and 
approaching with 
faltering steps, was 
Mr. Clark, and 
leaning trustfully 
on his arm the com- 
fortable figure of 
Mrs. Bowman. 
Her brow was un- 
ruffled and her lips 
were smiling. 

"Beautiful morn- 
ing," she said, 
pleasantly, as they 

" I^ovely ! " mur- 
mured the wonder- 
ing Mr. Tucker, 
trying, but in vain, 
to catch the eye of 
Mr. Clark. 

"I have been pay- 
ing an early visit/* 
said the widow, 

still smiling. "I surprised you, didn't I, 

" You did," said Mr. Clark, in an unearthly 

"We got talking about last night," con- 
tinued the widow, "and Nathaniel started 
pleading with me to give him another 
chance. I suppose that I am soft-hearted, 

but he was so miserable You were 

never so miserable in your life before, were 
you, Nathaniel ? " 

"Never," said Mr. Clark, in the same 
strange voice. 

" He was so wretched that at last 

way," said Mrs. Bowman, with a 

I gave 
" Poor fellow, it was such a shock to him 
that he hasn't got back his cheerfulness yet." 

Mr. Tucker said, " Indeed ! " 

"He'll be all right soon," said Mrs. 
Bowman, in confidential tones. " We are on 
the way to put our banns up, and once 
that is done he will feel safe. You are 
not really afraid of losing me again, are 
you, Nathaniel ? " 

Mr. Clark shook his head, and, meeting the 
eye of Mr, Tucker in the process, favoured 
him with a glance of such utter venom that 
the latter was almost startled. 

" Good-bye, Mr. Tucker," said the widow, 
holding out her hand. " Nathaniel did think 
of inviting you to come to my wedding, but 


perhaps it is best 
not. However, if 
I alter my mind, I 
will get him to ad- 
vertise for you again. 
She placed her arm in Mr. Clark's again, 
and led him slowly away. Mr. Tucker 
stood watching them for some time, and 
then, with a glance in the direction of 
the George, where he had left a very small 
portmanteau, he did a hasty sum in com- 
parative values and made his way to the 

by Google 

Original from 

How to be Healthy at All Ages. 


HE preservation of health at 
all ages, from infancy upwards, 
and, in the case of women, of 
the good looks which depend 
so largely upon health, is a 
subject of universal interest. 
Moreover, a great deal has of late been 
published about deterioration among the 
people, much of which undoubtedly arises 
from our unhygienic habits as regards eating, 
drinking, exercise, etc. It has therefore 
occurred to us that it would be not only of 
personal but also of the greatest public 
benefit if from those who are best able to 
advise in such a matter — that is, medical 
men — an expression of opinion on these 
subjects could be obtained. 

With this object in view a number of 
medical gentlemen of high standing and with 
a wide range of experience were approached 
and asked if they would 
accept a commission to 
answer the questions 
given below : — 

1. Is it possible to state 
at what age children should 
begin to take more solid 
food than milk, at what age 
they should begin to take 
meat, etc. ? 

2. In the case of youth, 
is appetite a reasonable guide 
to the amount of food they 
require ? 

3. It is said that grown 
people do not need so 
much food as growing boys 
and girls ; at what age do 
they, as a rule, begin to 
require less? 

4. Is there any rule by 
which a man may judge, 
according to his weight, 
how much food he should 
take per day, and how much 
liquid ? 

5. Cornaro, at the age 
of forty or thereabouts, 
dieted himself on twelve 

ounces of solid and fourteen ounces of liquid food 
per diem, and lived to be a hundred. Possibly 
a man in our more northerly climate would re- 
quire larger quantities than these. But do you 
think some such careful dieting as this would be 
possible and advantageous? 

6. Do you think the well-to-do, as a rule, eat too 
much ? 

7. Do you think, as a people, we drink too much 
tea? Should we do well to take it weaker and of 
better quality ? 

8. With the working people grey hair is becoming 
more and more a bar to employment. What is the 


From a) 


best general way of preserving the hair and maintain- 
ing its original colour ? 

9. Are the youth of the age too softly treated, and 
would a more Spartan regimen be advantageous ? 

10. As regards the constitutions of women and 
their beauty, what are the best general means of 
preserving them ? 

11. What general exercise would you recommend 
for all — for all weathers and all seasons of the year ? 

Dr. Robert Bell, of Ewell, Surrey, author 
of " Woman in Health and Sickness," " The 
Cancer Problem in a Nutshell," " Smallpox, 
a New Treatment," etc., sends the following 
answers : — 

1. Nature has answered the question as 
to the food of infants by arranging that up 
to about seven years of age children should 
only be provided with temporary or milk 
teeth. When the permanent, or what are 
intended to be permanent, teeth displace the 
temporary set, more solid food may be taken, 
but there is no article 
of diet that can excel 
milk, eggs, cheese, oat- 
meal, wheatmeal, rice, 
beans, peas, and the 
like in their nourishing 
properties, no matter 
what the age of the indi- 
vidual may be. 

2. Appetite is cer- 
tainly not a reason- 
able guide to the 
amount of food re- 
quired in youth. Child- 
ren eat not only to 
satisfy hunger, but fre- 
quently, when this is 
accomplished, go on 
eating to gratify the 
palate. The best me- 
thod to adopt in feed- 
ing children is to 
restrict their dietary to 
plain, nourishing food. 
It will then soon 
become apparent that the appetite will 
coincide with their actual requirements. 
Moreover, their health will be better and 
their growth promoted if their digestive 
organs are not unduly taxed. 

3. Whether grown people require less 
food than boys and girls depends largely 
upon the mode of life. An active out- 
door occupation, for example, has the effect 
of increasing the oxygenation of the blood. 
Digestion \s promoted, which results in an 





increase of appetite. Notwithstanding this, 
adults, as a matter of fact, do require less 
food than growing boys and girls. At forty 
years of age a man will do well to reduce 
his daily consumption of food. 

4. No, there is no rule, according to 
weight, by which a man may judge how 
much food and liquid he requires. Weight 
has no relation to the amount of food neces- 
sary to keep a man in good health. Stout 
people often are very small eaters, but, as a 
rule, take too much fluid. A strong, muscular 
man, though of the same weight as his fat 
friend, will require more nourishment and 
make a much better use of it. The great 
desideratum is not the quantity of solids 
and liquids required to keep a man in health, 
but the amount of nourishing constituents 
these contain. See reply to No. 5. 

5. I am quite positive that careful diet is 
not only possible, but would be highly- 
advantageous. Yet it would be difficult to 
act upon Cornaro's lines, for it is not the 
actual weight of solids and liquids that should 
be our guides, but the amount of nutriment 
these contain. For the maintenance of 
health we require a certain amount of 
proteids, salts of various kinds, and hydro 
carbons, and these will vary according to 

6. As a rule the well-to-do do eat too 
much, and of substances which give their 
digestive organs a great amount of unneces- 
sary work. Indeed, I am convinced more 
people die from over-eating than from over- 
drinking. I am no advocate for alcoholic 
drinks, nor am I a total abstainer, yet I 
believe the moderate man has the best 
chance of longevity. I have had my' eye 
upon all classes for over thirty years, and I 
have almost invariably noted that the tee- 
totaler, as a rule, is an inordinate eater, and 
in consequence dies comparatively young, 

7. Yes, we do drink too much tea. The 
pernicious constituents of tea which are 
injurious to the stomach, and through it to 
the system at large, consist of tannin and gum 
extracts which are of a resinous nature. Now 
these may be retained in the leaves, and thus 
the infusion rendered comparatively inno- 
cuous if the tea is infused for a period not 
exceeding three minutes. This is quite 
sufficient to extract all the aromatic and 
invigorating properties, while the noxious 
ingredients are left behind. 

8. This (the question of grey hair) is a 
difficult problem. The hair being only an 
outgrowth from the scalp, the pigment, being 
supplied from a different source, is .not 

Digitized by dOOQle 

essential to the health of the hair. A sturdy 
growth of hair is more liable to go white 
than finer hair. The reason of this is, I think, 
that the tubule of the hair is more liable to 
be encroached upon and occluded in the 
former variety. The best way to preserve the 
hair is to employ frequent friction and so 
prevent the scalp becoming adherent to the 
skull, whereby the circulation is impeded and 
the nourishment of the hair bulbs cut off. 

9. Most assuredly our youth are too softly 
treated, pampered, and over-indulged. Dis- 
cipline is sadly lacking, and a more Spartan 
regimen is what they require to make men 
of them. 

10. What is required for preserving 
the health and beauty of women are, 
first, a strict observance of hygienic laws, 
especially those which apply to the whole 
length of the alimentary canal ; second, 
avoidance of late hours and over-fatigue at 
certain times; third, warm clothing, especially 
as regards the extremities ; fourth, the avoid- 
ance of tight lacing and high-heeled boots ; 
fifth, plenty of open-air exercise and gym- 
nastics to a moderate extent 

11. Any amusement that necessitates a 
good amount of walking in the open air, 
especially when the muscles of the trunk and 
arms are also brought into frequent play, is a 
good general exercise. In a word, walking 
is the best all-round exercise we can take. 

(Signed) R. B. 

The following are the answers given by 
John Haddon, M.A., M.D., of Denholme, 
Roxburghshire, author of "Notes from 
Private Practice on Sore Throats/ etc : — 

1. As a rule children thrive well on milk 
alone for nine months. Although some are 
born with teeth, we may conclude that when 
the teeth normally appear other food might 
be given. Children should not have meat ; 
and some recent studies of dietaries in 
America have proved that children on a diet 
of fruit and nuts alone are exceptionally 
healthy and vigorous. If growing children 
are sufficiently nourished on such a diet, 
what need can there be for any other when 
their growth has ceased ? 

2. No. Appetite is not a guide to be 
followed at any age, and gratification of the 
appetite is certain to cause disease sooner or 
later, according to the power of elimination. 
A good appetite, indeed, is one of the chief 
dangers to health among the people. 

3. When they have attained their full 
growth adults do not need so much food as 
boys and girls. If th^y do not eat less then 




they are likely to put on fat, which is really a 
disease, and to be avoided by all who desire 
to enjoy perfect health. Few can leave the 
table unsatisfied. 

4. Some are of opinion, end it is 
generally believed, that one ought to eat 
more or less according to one's weight, 
but future observations will certainly prove 
that such an idea is entirely wrong. Pro- 
fessor Chittenden has already proved that 
even athletes are better in every way eating 
only half the amount of proteid food which 
they were accustomed 

to do, and if they, 
undergoing the har- 
dest muscular work 
which man can do, 
became more fit by 
such abstinence, there 
is good reason to be- 
lieve that everyone 
would have the same 
experience ; but fur- 
ther observations on 
the same lines as Pro- 
fessor Chittenden's 
are necessary to settle 
the question in a scien- 
tific way. If animal 
food is not eaten no 
liquid is required, the 
vegetable kingdom 
supplying the solid 
and liquid in proper 
proportions, and there 
can be no doubt that 
disease is caused by 
too much liquid as 
well as by too much 
solid food, even 
among vegetarians. 

5. Twelve ounces of food, if animal food 
is partaken of, are quite enough for most. 
The general teaching that more food is 
required in a cold than in a warm climate is 
likely by further observation to be proved to 
be wrong. A man snowed up in Dakota 
for six months had nothing but wheat and 
milk upon which to live, and he never 
enjoyed better health, although the thermo- 
meter was often forty degrees below zero. 
It is only by such careful dieting as Cornaro 
adopted that perfect health and long life can 
be attained. If he took two ounces more 
he became ill, proving that twelve ounces 
was the maximum that he could take with 
impunity ; but there is reason to believe that 
less would have been better for him, and 
that if he had eaten only ten ounces of his 


From a Photoffraph. 

by dC 


food he would not have died even at 
a hundred years of age. I know one, a great 
student of diet, who, being advised to weigh 
his food and restrict himself to twelve ounces, 
did so, with the result that he lost seven 
pounds in weight, all of which, according to 
his observation, went from the abdomen, and 
he felt very much better. It is in the abdo- 
men where fat seems first to accumulate, and 
that also is the region it leaves last. It would 
thus appear that the diet should be restricted 
until the abdominal fat is removed. 

6. Both well-to-do 
and ill-to-do, as a rule, 
eat too much, and, 
when the explanation 
of the deterioration of 
which we now hear so 
much is reached, it 
will be found that the 
cause, so far as food 
is concerned, is too 
much, and not too 
little ; very little, of 
the right kind, being 

7. Tea is con- 
demned by many, but, 
if not infused too 
long, good tea does 
not appear, so far as 
my observations have 
gone, to do any harm. 
I know one case, that 
of a woman, who 
without doubt for 
the last thirty years 
of her life lived on 
white bread toasted 
and tea, dying over 
eighty years of age. 

Another lived on cocoa and milk alone. 

8. Living so as to ensure perfect health 
and never covering the head is the best pre- 
ventive of grey hair, 

9. Certainly the youth of the age are too 
softly treated. The contrast between children 
allowed to run about outside in all weathers, 
in dirt and rags, and those pampered in the 
house and taken out for a walk periodically, 
as too many of the children, even of the 
middle classes, are, is most marked. The 
latter are pale and puny compared with the 
former. In our rural schools in Scotland 
the children who are able to have dinner at 
home are not to be compared with those who 
have long distances to walk and carry a 
piece of bread and butter, or jam, for their 
dinner. The contrast can be seen in the 

Original from 




same family, where one goes to a school at a 
distance and the others to one close at hand. 

10. Right food and some work outside, 
or plenty of outdoor exercise and athletics 
are the best means of preserving the health 
and beauty of women. 

ii. Outdoor work is the best exercise for 
all weathers and all seasons. As out-workers 
in the garden, or in the fields, in Scotland, 
we find the best specimens of women. If 
walking is relied upon for exercise, it should 
be uphill, and at such a pace as will ensure 
free action of the skin, the inaction of which 
is the cause of much disease. 

The next answers we give are those of Dr. 
Joseph Kidd, of Finsbury Circus, author of 
"The Laws of Therapeutics," "Heart Disease 
and the Nauheim Treatment," etc., well 
known as having been physician to Lord 
Beaconsfield. Dr. Kidd writes : — 

i. As a rule, children should begin to take 
more solid food than milk at about the age of 
twelve months, chiefly farinaceous food, such 
as crust of bread with butter scraped on, stale 
crumb of French roll, mealy potatoes baked 
or boiled, but not mashed, or the best of the 
prepared infants' foods. It is best for children 
not to begin to take meat until after seven 
years of age, providing the supply of other 
food is good and abundant, such as milk, 
fresh eggs, bread and butter, farinaceous 
foods, fruit, and vegetables. Fresh fish or 
poultry two or three times a week. Happy 
the children, mentally as well as physically, 
that do not touch butcher's meat until after 
seven years of age. 

2. Yes, appetite is a reasonable guide in 

3. Grown people begin to need less food 
at about the age of twenty- three. After that 
age adults, as a rule, require less food than 
growing boys and girls. 

4. Most fortunately there is not any rule 
according to weight as to the quantity of 
food or liquid a man requires. To attempt 
to judge by a man's weight the amount of 
food and liquid he should take per day would 
create a race of faddists and hysterical men 
and women. 

5. It would be possible but not advan- 
tageous to diet ourselves like Cornaro. 
With restricted food our northerly climate 
would create a degenerate race of men and 
women. The result of restricted food would 
fall all one way. Possibly one man like 
Cornaro might live to be a hundred, but the 
rest would most probably fall into the grave 
before sixty. 

by Google 

6. Yes, the well-to-do, as a rule, eat too 
much, especially too much meat, and too 
little bread At our ordinary dinner few 
people finish the small portion of bread at 
their^side, whereas at a French dinner bread 
is eaten all through the meal. 

7. The well-to-do should take tea weaker 
and of better quality, as strong tea prevents 
normal waste of the tissues, and gout often 
follows. To poor people tea is an actual 
food as well as drink. A small quantity of 
food with tea will supply all the processes 
and functions of life much better than a 
larger quantity of food without the tea. Thus 
it enables the poor to work on a smaller 
quantity of food. Liebig discovered this fact, 
and laid great stress upon it. To a lady 
visiting in Bethnal Green a poor widow said : 
" We widows have to live very low. If you 
took away our tea it would be like murder 
to us." Coffee is too expensive for the poor. 

8. As far as they can, working people should 
spend their money on the most nutritious food. 
Use a hair-brush regularly — at bedtime when 
not able to spare the time in the morning. 
Rub into the roots of the hair*some simple 
thing, such as vaseline or salad oil. The use 
of any application containing lead should be 
avoided. Lead darkens the hair, but poisons 
the nervous tissues of the brain. 

9. Yes, the youth of the age arejoo softly 
treated, even amongst the poor. A more 
Spartan regimen would be advantageous, viz., 
the windows of bedrooms to be kept open at 
night ; as much open-air exercise as possible ; 
if a cold bath in the morning cannot be had, 
then a good rubbing all over with a towel 
dipped in cold water should be tried 

10. Daily open-air exercise is among the 
best preservatives of the health and beauty 
of women; also nourishing food — milk; 
increase the quantity of butter ; use jam 
sparingly. Thorough mastication of food, 
using bread two days old to ensure mastica- 
tion. A sponging bath night or morning, as 
most convenient — warm, tepid, or cold, as 
most agreeable. Avoid tight stays and tight 
clothes. Thick soles to shoes to prevent 
chills to the feet. 

11. The best exercise for all — for all 
weathers and all seasons of the year — is 
regular steady walking in the open air. The 
next best exercise is cycling, or, to those who 
can afford it, riding or rowing. 

(Signed) Joseph Kidd, M.D. 

Dr. F. Needham, of Camden Hill Square, 
W., author of " Brain Exhaustion," " Forced 
Alimentation," etc., answers as follows ;— 

Original from 




1. The appearance of the teeth roughly 
indicates the period at which a milk diet 
requires to be supplemented by solid food, 
of which meat should form a strictly moderate 
proportion. Up to this time the rr.other 
should have suckled her child, maintaining 
herself in good health and supplying her child 
with additional milk of good quality only. 

2. The appetite of young people is a 
reasonable guide to the amount of food 
required, but there are, of course, greedy 
children, who must be controlled. 

3. People begin to require less food when 
the period of growth has ceased. 

4. 5, 6. Dieting, or living in a balance, 
after the manner of Cornaro, is not desirable, 
as attracting too much attention to bodily 
functions, but a reasonable restriction of food 
is very important. The well-to-do classes, 
as a rule, eat and drink too much, loading 
the body with listless and deleterious mate- 
rial. Some allowance must be made for 
variations of size ; but, speaking generally, 
an average man of adult age may correctly 
calculate his suitable dietary from the fol- 
lowing two tables of Professor Parkes. The 
first shows the proper proportions of solid, 
water-free foodstuffs in ounces for such a man. 

Ai rest. Ordinary work. Hard work. 

Proteids 2*5 ... 4*6 ... 6 to 7 

Fats I ... 3 ... 3 '5 to 4*5 

Carbo-hydrates 12 ... 14-4 ... 16 to 18 

Total water-free food 15*5 ... 22'0 ... 25*5 to 29 5 

The second table shows how much of 
each of these classes of food is contained in 
various articles of ordinary diet. 

Article* of Food. Water. Proteids. Fats. SV*T Salts 


Uncooked Beef 

and Mutton.. 75 .. 15 ... 84 .. — ... 1*6 

Fat Pork 39 ... 98 .. 48*9 ... — ... 2-3 

Dried Bacon ... 15 ... 8*8... 73-3 ... — ... 2 "9 

Smoked Ham... 27*8... 24 ... 36*5 ... — ...IO'I 

White Hsh 7S ... 181 ., 2*9 .. — ..I 

Poultry 74 ... 21 ... 3 '8 ... — ... 12 

White Bread ... 40 ... 8 ... 15 ... 492... 13 

Wheat Flour ..15 ... II ... 2 ... 70*3 ... 17 

Barley Meal ... 11*3... 127... 2 ... 71 ... 3 

Rye 13*5-* 'J'*- 2 • 69 3 ■•■ 2#I 

Biscuits 8 ... 15*6..." 13 ... 73*4... 17 

Rice 10 . 5 ... -8 ... 83*2... *5 

Oatmeal 15 ... I2'6... 5*6 ... 63 .. 3 

Maize *3 # 5— IO — 67 ■■• 64-5... 14 

Macaroni 131 ... 9 ... 3 ... 76-8... '8 

Arrowroot I5'4»- "8... — ... 83*3... '27 

Dried Peas 15 ... 22 .. 2 ... 53 ... 2*4 

Potatoes 74 ... 2 ... 'i6... 21 ... 1 

Carrots 85 ... 1*6... "25... 8*4... I 

Cabbage 91 ... 1*8... 5 ... 58. .. 7 

Butter... 6 ... 33... 88 ... — - ... 27 

Eggs 73 I3"5 ""6 .-. - •■■ 1 

Cheese 368... 335 243 ... - ... 5*4 

Milk 86 8... 4 ... 37 ... 4-8... 7 

Sugar 3 ... — ... — ... 965... -5 

Digitized by W 

7. Far too much tea is drunk by many 
people. It should be of good quality, not 
strong, freshly infused, and not allowed to 
stand on the leaves. 

8 and 10. I know of no royal road to 
the avoidance of premature grey hair and 
the preservation of beauty. Both must be 
influenced by the maintenance of good 
general health — by means of a reasonable 
life, adequate exercise, and moderation in all 

9. At present there is (as regards the treat- 
ment of youth) far too much self-indulgence 
and luxury, which in themselves imply too 
little regard for the needs of others. 

11. I know of no exercise which is uni- 
versally applicable, and suited to all seasons 
of the year, so good as walking 

(Signed) F, NEEDHAM, M.D. 

Our next series of answers are from 
Dr. Jno. Milson Rhodes, of Didsbury, 
Manchester, chairman of the Central Com- 
mittee of Poor Law Conferences for England 
and Wales, President d'Honneur du Congres 


From a Photo, by A. Coupe, Within ffton. 

International pour 1'Enfance, 1899. Dr. 
Rhodes writes : — 

1. Up to ten months the proper food for a 
child is its mothers milk ; then start with 
farinaceous foods, and when it is able to 
masticate meat it may be given, but not 

2. I think appetite is a reasonable guide 
to the amount of food required in youth. I 
have watched those who have been playing 
matches at lacrosse, football, etc., and the 
appetite depended on the work done. 

3. As to grown persons not requiring as 
much food as boys and girls. I do not 




think they do \ the growing boy has to con- 
serve his body, making provision for ad- 
ditional growth. As to the age when less 
is required, the answer to this question 
depends largely upon the amount of work. 
About twenty-five, I should say, if doing an 
average amount of work. 

4. No, there is no rule by which a man may 
judge how much food and drink he requires 
per day. Take a case of diabetes ; it would 
be cruel to cut down the supply of liquid to 
a few ounces. 

5. I do not think it would be well for a man 
to diet himself like Cornaro. Some years ago 
I had a great deal to do with the regulations 
re workhouse dietaries, but I should not 
have ventured to suggest as an experiment 
anything similar, except upon myself, and in 
my case it was a miserable failure. 

6. Yes, the well-to-do do eat too much, 
too much meat, at any rate, in summer. 
Inmates of workhouses and asylums do well 
on one meat meal a day. In the United 
States asylums I am aware they give more 
meat, but I do not think the physical condi- 
tions there are better than here. 

7. The evil of excessive tea-drinking is the 
leaving the tea to stew instead of using the 
fresh infusion. 

9. No, the youth of the age are not too 
softly treated, but they want more manly 
sports. There is nothing manly in a young 
fellow watching a football match and smoking 
and drinking all the time. More walking and 
fewer trolly-cars would be better for them. 

10. Fresh air, mental and physical exer- 
cises are the best preservatives of health dnd 
beauty in women. In countries where the 
women take little exercise, they deteriorate in 
beauty far faster than the English. 

n. Exercise is like food, it should be 
mixed, and I do not mind what the form takes 
so long as there is plenty of fresh air with it. 

Note. — I have, as one who has had twenty- 
five years of public life in Poor Law and 
County Council work, as much experience of 
the poor of a great town as any one, and I 
do not believe in the cry about the degene- 
ration of the working classes. By accident, 
the report of the Poor Law Commissioners 
on the sanitary condition of the labouring 
population of Great Britain, 1842, lies before 
me. The Commissioners quote (page 182) 
Dr. Hawkins : " I believe that most travellers 
are struck by the lowness of stature, the lean- 
ness, and paleness which present themselves 
so commonly to the eye at Manchester, and, 
above all, among the factory classes." The 
height of both boys and girls had increased 

by L^OOgle 

in 1873 slightly by '2 to '4 inches and weight 
by five to six pounds. 

I believe there has been great improvement 
since that date (1873). The curse of the 
working classes is the way they are housed. 
The concentration in the towns, the foul 
emanations from defective drainage, cause 
an enormous amount of disease. Give the 
people houses to live in, not places to die in, 
and you will have done much to promote the 
healthy physical development of the people. 

(Signed) Jno. Milson Rhodes, M.D. 

Dr. C. W. Saleeby, of Greville Place, 
N.W., author of "The Cycle of Life," "Evo- 
lution the Master Key," etc., replies as fol- 
lows. He observes that he answers only 
those questions on which he feels he can give 
a first-hand opinion : — 

2. It being assumed by parents that a 
child's appetite is radically erroneous, evi- 
dence of gluttony and original sin, and the 
diet of the child being modified in conse 
quence, it is safe to say that the appetite of 
the average child is no reasonable guide, 
either to the quantity or the quality of the 
food required. Such a child will make him- 
self ill, for instance, with sweets or fruit, but 
it is a priori probable — Nature being no fool 
— and has been experimentally proved, that 
if the appetite be regarded as not without 
purpose, there are no other indications so 
trustworthy and valuable. It is only the 
child deprived of the necessary sugar, organic 
acids, etc., that will unduly cram himself 
with sweets and fruit when he gets the 
chance. My profession had to wait for an 
outsider — Herbert Spencer — to teach it this, 
as he told in his wonderful little book on 
education nearly half a century ago. 

5. 1 he question as to Cornaro's diet and 
Nos. 4 and 6 (as to judging of quantity 
and excess in eating) cannot be answered off- 
hand because of the number of the factors 
that determine the amount of food anyone 
requires. As question No. 4 recognises, body- 
weight is undoubtedly such a factor, but the 
amount of work done, physical and mental y 
is of at least equal importance. Question 
No. 5 wisely recognises the influence of tem- 
perature. The figures quoted for Cornaro 
are quite irrelevant to common needs, if not 

6. Beyond all doubt whatever the well-to- 
do, as a rule, eat far too much, just as the 
very poor unfortunately eat too little. As a 
nation we consume an adequacy of food, but 
a large proportion of it goes into the wrong 
mouths. That the well-to-do eat too much 




has long been recognised by the best 
medical observers. Many a man with a fine 
set of teeth has dug his grave with them. So 
well recognised has this been that interested 
people have even made the preposterous asser- 
tion that more harm is done by over-eating 
than by the abuse of alcohol. Quite recently 
the affirmative answer to this question as to 
the well-to-do has received a new support, 
not, as before, 
from observation, 
but from the 
most rigidly-con- 
ducted and ex- 
haustive experi- 
ment. Professor 
Chittenden, of 
the United States, 
has conclusively 
proved not only 
that the well-to- 
do, as a rule, eat 
too much, but 
even that the 
dietary quantities 
stated as neces- 
sary in text-books 
on dietetics 
hitherto are over- 
estimates, one 
and all. The 
well-to-do have 
never failed much 
to exceed these ^mmmn^m 
quantities, which 

are now shown to be themselves excessive. 
The great majority of people above the poverty 
line must expend a considerable portion of the 
energy derived from their food in disposing 
of the excess of food which they daily con- 
sume. The familiar law of the indestructi- 
bility of matter teaches us that whatever we 
put into our mouths, if superfluous, must be 
disposed of somehow ; it cannot vanish into 
thin air. The food which is in excess of the 
needs of the organism must either accumu- 
late in the form of fat or be burnt up in 
the body, the products of combustion being 
removed by the usual channels — which most 
of us so grossly overwork. 

7. To the first part of this question I 
answer — No ! To the quantity of tea we 
drink I have no objection. Civilized man will 
probably take stimulants to the end of time, 
and Heaven knows there are worse stimu- 
lants than tea. But I suppose that nine-tenths 
of all the tea we drink is of undesirable consti- 
tution. The characteristic ingredients of the 
tea-leaf are two — the valuable tonic theine 

Digitized by tjOOgJC 

(identical with the caffeine of coffee), and 
the astringent body known as tannin or 
tannic acid. This latter has no action of 
any kind upon the nervous system and a 
wholly deleterious action upon the stomach 
and the functions of that organ. The ideal 
cup of tea contains a fair quantity of theine 
and no tannin whatever. The leaf from 
India or Ceylon should never be infused for 

more than four 
minutes at the 
very outside; 
thereafter all the 
leaves should be 
removed from 
the teapot. The 
China leaf, be- 
sides being more 
delicate in frag- 
rance and at least 
equally refreshing 
in virtue of its 
theine, contri- 
butes much less 
tannin to an im- 
infusion and 
none to one that 
is properly made. 
the public taste 
is vitiated, and 
fancies that there 

DR. C W. SALEEHY. {J. Auld. Edinburgh, 1S no Strength in 

a tea that does 
not taste strong. In point of fact, the really 
stimulant ingredient of tea, in the proportions 
in which it occurs in the infusion, does not 
affect the nerves of taste at all. 

9. This query (as to whether our youth are 
too softly treated) seems to me to be un- 
answerable, since there is so little uniformity 
in the treatment which we mete out to our 
youth. I seem to observe the most amazing 
divergences in practice, some parents working 
night and day while their children play and 
others outdoing Sparta itself. Your immensely 
important query might be answered in a 
couple of volumes or a small encyclopaedia. 

11. In answering this last question let me 

insist upon a factor of health to which 

you have not alluded — the air we breathe. 

That this be pure, as far as possible free from 

gaseous or solid filth, is a matter of the first 

importance. As regards exercise, therefore, 

the first — and, indeed, I am inclined to say, 

the only — consideration is that it be such 

exercise as can and must be taken in 

pure air. To spend a night in a bedroom 
1 sJilyliral TTOMI w 




with windows closed, and on getting up to 
manipulate dumb-bells or an "exerciser," 
meanwhile rebreathing the interesting collec- 
tion of poisonous compounds which have 
accumulated during the night as a conse- 
quence of your vital functions — this is the 
last word of folly. The only exercise worth 
a straw is that which takes one into the open 
air and into such sunshine as the heavens 
may vouchsafe. If I had to choose I should 
much rather spend hqjf an hour in a Bath 
chair in air and direct sunlight than in wield- 
ing Indian clubs in an unventilated and 
unilluminated bedroom. There is as much 
nonsense talked about exercise as about 
most things. Many people who live sensible 
lives under clean conditions thrive without 
any exercise whatever. I did so for six years 
as a student myself. But if you want a plain 
answer to your question, I can only reply, 
walking. If I were unbiased I should pro- 
bably add go/f % but I am a cricketer and 
have to hate golf on principle. 

(Signed) C. \V. Saleeby, M.U. 

Dr. W. K. Sibley, of Duke Street, Grosvenor 
Square, W., 
author of "The 
Treatment of 
Disease by Light 
and Heat," etc., 
send s these 
answers :- — 

i. The age at 
which infants be- 
gin to need more 
solid food than 
milk depends 
entirely upon the 
eruption of the 
teeth. No food 
other than milk 
should ever be 
given until at 
least two teeth 
have appeared, 
which is gene- 
rally between the From a ptwto. bu\ 
sixth and eighth 

months. Meat should not be given until 
the infant is eighteen months old. From 
the seventh month, if two teeth have been 
cut, a little veal or mutton broth, in which 
a vegetable, such as a carrot, has been 
boiled, may, after careful straining, be given 
once daily to replace one of the milk 
meals. No potatoes should be eaten till one 
year old. 

2. Animals in a state of nature know when 


they have had enough to eat, but not so under 
domestication. Our youth, brought up under 
the bane of modern civilization, generally 
know when they have had enough bread and 
butter, but rarely when sufficient meat or 
sweets have been consumed, 

3. At what age do grown people begin to 
require less food ? Not until the amount of 
physical or mental energy expended begins 
to be diminished. 

4. There can be no fixed rule by which to 
judge of the amount of food and liquid re- 
quired, so much depends upon the occupa- 
tion and habits of the individual. Those 
leading sedentary lives require much less 
than those of more active pursuits. Some 
thin people require more food than stout. 

5. Undoubtedly such a strict regimen as 
Cornaro's would be most advantageous 
under medical supervision, but the restric- 
tion would be quite impossible except with a 
very limited number of individuals of ascetic 

6. Yes; the well-to do do, as a rule, eat 
too much. Excess of eating and drinking, 
the fashion of modern society, is the com- 
monest cause of 
most of the so- 
called trivial ail- 
ments commenc- 
ing before middle 
life. The present- 
day individual 
sooner or later 
becomes the vic- 
t im of many 
rheumatic or 
gouty symptoms, 
most conveni- 
ently classed 
under the head- 
ing "Goutiness." 
These are usu- 
ally, in the first 
place, due to a 
want of equili- 
brium between 
the intake 
and the out- 
put. The commonest phenomena of these 
conditions are flatulence, dyspepsia, palpi- 
tation, insomnia, migraine, nervous depression, 
and, later on, chronic bronchitis, asthma, 
etc., not to mention the obvious pains of 
a typical rheumatic nature occurring in the 
nerves and joints. In most cases all are the 
result of errors of diet and the persistent over- 
loading of the digestive apparatus by too 
much, too fikrbgiand fatten badly-cooked food, 


[Russell it Sons. 



The fashion of three or four large meals a day, 
each of a very miscellaneous and often highly 
nitrogenous character, must inevitably in time 
produce disastrous results. The lower animals 
feed only when they are hungry ; man at 
regular intervals fixed by custom, and abso- 
lutely irrespective of appetite. Who ever 
heard of a modern society individual only 
eating when hungry ? — though many indulge 
in appetizers to produce an artificial craving 
for more food than is necessary. The 
worst forms of over-eating occur in those 
people — a numerous class — who are already 
suffering from an overtaxed digestive appa- 
ratus and whose blood is saturated with 
the deleterious products of a too liberal 
diet, which excess their systems, owing to 
hereditary or acquired conditions, are unable 
to get rid of by natural processes. These 
persons, on account of the distressing sensa- 
tions they suffer, are told, or more frequently 
persuade themselves, that more nourishment 
is necessary, and so, in addition to their fixed 
excessive daily meals, add coal to the fire 
by taking small quantities of nourishment 
between times and even during the hours of 
the night, when Nature attempts to enforce 
some rest for the digestive organs. A few hours' 
starvation occasionally would be an excellent 
treatment for the majority of town dwellers 
of the well-to-do classes. A treatment which 
gained a large reputation a few years ago 
consisted in the simple prescription of only 
taking a cup of coffee and roll for breakfast, 
as is the custom on the Continent. This 
was attended by excellent results in many 
people who were accustomed to consume a 
large quantity of animal food with the first 
meal of the day. 

7. Yes. Tea-drinking in excess is be- 
coming almost as much a curse and cause of 
disease as alcohol. Undoubtedly it should 
be taken much weaker and of a better quality, 
and never with meat meals. The price at 
which many so-called teas are sold in this 
country is lower than the cheapest tea can be 
bought in China or India. 

8. Grey hair is largely hereditary and due 
to family predisposition. General attention 
to living a healthy life, avoiding excessive 
mental fatigue and strain, and keeping early 
hours is the best general preventive to 
premature greyness and other senile 
degenerative changes. 

9. No, youth are not treated too softly ; 
but a little more sense and scientific know- 
ledge is desirable in the regulation of the 
hours of sleep, and the school food should be 
of a less monotonous character, of a superior 

Vol. xxxi.— 39 

Digitized by K* OO QlC 

quality, and better cooked. Generally, with 
very few exceptions, our public as well as 
private schools are primarily conducted to 
show good profits on the fees paid, and the 
commissariat department is the one largely 
looked to to produce this, the health of our 
youth being a very secondary consideration. 

10. Women's health and beauty are best 
preserved by leading a natural and not 
an artificial life. Womtrn were intended by 
Nature to be mothers of families and to 
devote their time and attention to their 
children and homes. Regular habits, simple 
but properly - cooked food, early hours, 
sleeping with open windows — these are the 
best preservatives of comeliness. A lovely 
form should be the expression of a healthy 
mind. Our grandmothers with their mode 
of life were more comely to look upon than 
the fashionable women of to-day ; their 
homes were homes, and not mere dressing- 
rooms in which to pass a brief period 
between their numerous rounds of amuse- 
ment. It is the modern pace which kills 
both comeliness of body and beauty of 
mind. Anything is nowadays sacrificed for 
excitement, everything for a new sensation. 

11. More individual manual labour, less 
dependence upon others to do things for 
us. Laziness in all classes is the malady* of 
the age. For exercise for the young of both 
sexes, the hygienic advantages of the old- 
fashioned skipping-rope have never been 
superseded, even by the recent physical 
culture exercises " made in Germany." 
This form of exercise expands the chest, de- 
velops the limbs, and invigorates the system, 
especially when executed in the open air. 
Where practicable, however, the best iorm of 
all-the-year-round exercise for the majority 
of city dwellers would be for them to return 
to the soil with a spade and dig and till the 
earth. This must be the ultimate cure for 
the disease of modern town existence. 

(Signed) W. Knowsley Sibley, M.A., 
M.D., etc., Physician N.W. London 

Dr. Andrew Wilson, the well - known 
popular writer on health subjects, answers : — 

1. The age when solid food should be 
substituted in part for milk in the case of 
infants is perfectly ascertained. In the 
case of the healthy child, milk should form 
the staple article of diet up to the age of 
seven months or so. To give a child under 
this age such a food as starch is to give it 
what Nature teaches us it cannot digest. 

2. I should say appetite— natural and not 




abnormal — is a fairly reasonable guide to 
the choice of food. Children like sugar, for 
example, and sugar can replace fat to a large 
extent. Fat, children do not as a rule care for. 

3. The quantity of food needed bears a 
distinct relation to the weight of body and to 
the necessities of the body. The growing 
body has not merely to make good its daily 
loss (the result of bodily work), but demands 
material for body-building ; therefore, the 
amount of food, proportionately to body- 
weight, is greater in youth than in adult life. 
In old age, with less output of energy and no 
necessity for body-building, the quantity of 
food needed is lessened. Women require 
less food than men. 

4. There can be no fixed rule as regards 
the quantity of food or liquid required in 
each particular case. We live 

by the results of experience, 
and individual temperament 
counts for much, as also do 
work and other conditions of 
life. The average proportion 
of foods for the healthy adult 
is about one of the body- 
building materials to four of 
the materials that go to de- 
velop energy or the power of 
doing work. 

5. Cornaro's case I regard 
as an exceptional one. I do 
not think his dietary would 
suffice for a man in Britain 
doing a fair amount of mus- 
cular work every day. The 
farther north we go, more 
meat and fat arc consumed. 
Pure vegetarianism (apart 
from individual cases) is the 
diet of warm regions. Cor- 
naro was not a teetotaler, but took his pint 
or so of wine per day. 

6. I certainly think not only the well-to-do 
but the masses eat too much. We have been 
brought up in the idea that repletion and 
not mere satisfaction is the rule to be fol- 
lowed. Professor Chittenden, of America, has 
shown that health and strength can be con- 
served on quantities of food much under the 
standard usually regarded as necessary. I 
am of opinion we should enjoy better health 
all round if we ate less, and many people are 
at last beginning to realize the truth and to 
practise a more simple style of living. 

7. I certainly think tea-bibbing is a modern 
evil. It has become a kind of social vice, 
which many medical men tell us is attended 
by the development of nervous symptoms. 


From a PhoiogratJi. 

At the same time tea does much less harm 
than alcohol or than coffee. Tea should 
always be taken of good quality. 

8. Avoid wetting the hair (as in the morn- 
ing bath) frequently ; this is a common 
source of premature greyness and baldness. 
Apply daily a dressing composed of oils, and 
represented by brilliantine, devoid of an 
excess of spirit. Have the hair washed once 
every ten days, and use moderately hard 
brushes only. If any dye is needed use one 
of the walnut or vegetable order ; mineral, 
and especially lead, dyes are dangerous. 

9. As to a more Spartan treatment of 
youth, I do not see that there is any need 
to depart from the practice of the ordinary 
laws of health. Bring the youth up trained 
to take a fair amount of exercise, give him 

sufficient hours of sleep, en- 
courage him in his games 
(with due regard to the avoid- 
ance of making " sport " the 
end of the games), and you 
will develop the hardy man. 
I do not think we want a 
more Spartan treatment, any 
more than we desire to 
" coddle " our youth. 

10. The laws of health 
that apply to men's welfare 
also apply to that of women. 
Certainly there are special 
conditions to be reckoned 
with in the case of girls, but 
I regard the greater atten- 
tion paid to - day to girls' 
exercise and calisthenics, and 
to their more active partici- 
pation in tennis, cycling, golf, 
and the like, as an admirable 
aid to their better physical 
development. The modern woman is more 
robust, on the whole, than was her mother. 

11. It is difficult to determine what general 
exercise could be prescribed for all. I think 
many of the appliances now used to strengthen 
the muscles, and such as can be used indoors, 
represent a very efficient form of exercise 
which can be used by everybody and under 
all circumstances. A wet day may prevent 
outdoor exercises of all kinds ; but, taking it 
all round, I feel convinced a good walk, with 
part of it uphill, is as excellent a form of 
exercise as anybody can take. It encourages 
deep breathing, braces the muscles, tones up 
the heart, and promotes the action of the 
skin — all excellent results of natural exercise. 

The folio wine 


1 a I from 





hv Dr. 



Yorke-Davies, of Harley Street, author of 
" Foods for the Fat," " Health and Condi- 
tion in the Active and Sedentary," etc. : — 

1. The foundations of a strong constitution 
and long life are laid during the period of 
infancy and adolescence, and the first 
essential in life is that the infant should be 
suckled by its mother for the first six months 
or even longer. Dry-nursed children have 
never the stamina in after - life of those 
brought up as Nature ordained. Indeed, 
an infant should be fed on nothing but its 
mother's milk until it gets its first four teeth, 
which, as a rule, come between the eighth 
and ninth month. After this ordinary milk 
may be given, thickened with baked flour, 
bread or biscuits, arrowroot, jelly, porridge, 
or other well-cooked farinaceous substances. 
After the teething period is over, or a little 
before, which ranges from the eighteenth to 
the twenty-fourth month, a child may be 
given a little meat, cut small, once a day, 
bread and butter, or any easily-digested 
farinaceous pudding. Red meats, well cooked, 
are preferable for children, and mutton is the 
best of all. 

2. During childhood and youth proper 
nourishing food of any kind is, naturally, 
essential to growth and development, and 
appetite in the case of children is the best 
guide as to what quantity they should take. 
If the food is not too tempting they are not 
likely to over-gorge, and it goes without say- 
ing that growing children, male or female, 
require plenty of food, as it is used not only 
in maintaining strength, health, and con- 
dition, but also in promoting growth and 

3. In the case of schoolboys and school- 
girls they undoubtedly should take as much 
food as grown-up people, and I only wish I 
could say that the food of children in schools 
is what it ought to be. No parent is doing 
justice to his offspring if he does not 
thoroughly acquaint himself with the food of 
the school that he trusts his child's life and 
health to, and this applies until growth is 

4. No absolute rule can be laid down as 
to the amount of food a grown-up man or 
woman should take, because so much 
depends upon work, mental or physical, 
climate, etc., as the case may be, and the 
diet applicable in any one condition is not 
always so in another ; but I do not consider, 
broadly speaking, that twenty-four ounces a 
day of solid food is too little ; while, with 
regard to fluid, so long as it is harmless — 
such as tea, coffee in moderation, water, 

Digitized by G* 

and aerated waters, etc. — it can be taken to 
any extent. In fact, fluid assists the kidneys 
in eliminating the waste of the body, much 
as air assists the lungs in eliminating dele- 
terious products. 

5. Cornaro is no authority to go by, and 
there is no way of testing the truth of the 
story of the quantity of food he took. I 
look upon it simply as a fable. Un- 
doubtedly in our more northerly climate 
more food than this is required ; but, on 
the other hand, on the knowledge of diet, 
and the food that maintains tissue, and the 
food that maintains warmth, and the equable 
apportioning of these, health and strength 
and life are maintained, and simple dietetics 
thus far should be studied by all. 

6. In these days we eat a great deal more 
than we should, and this is due to the fact 
that the refinements of cookery tempt the 
appetite beyond the requirements of hunger. 
The dinner menu is too long and varied, and 
hence the temptation to eat too much is 
fostered to our detriment 

7. The quantity of tea we should drink 
depends in a great measure on how it is 
made and what its quality is. I always con- 
sider that ordinary people would do well to 
drink tea twice a day. This should be care- 
fully made. The tea should be infused in a 
vessel, already heated, with boiling water, and 
for not longer than five minutes. There is 
certainly much difference in the quality of 
tea, and some are far more beneficial than 
others as containing more theine, which is 
one of the properties of tea peculiarly useful 
to the system. I am a strong advocate of 
those teas grown in Ceylon, and, of course, 
as in every case, the better the quality or 
this, the better it is for the health of those 
who indulge in this beverage, that has stood 
the test of time, and which seems to be in- 
creasing so much in public favour. 

8. Those who have to work, either by 
manual or by mental labour, and who desire 
to live long and to retain the appearance of 
youth when youth has passed, such as the 
colour of the hair and its profusion, the 
ability to do mental or physical work with 
enjoyment, and to be useful even to old age, 
is simply a matter of food, exercise, fresh air, 
and other factors which are within the reach 
of those of every age and condition in life. 

9. During the schooldays, which would 
mean from the age of ten to the age of 
seventeen — in some cases earlier — there are 
two factors which are essential to the proper 
development of both the mental and physical 
faculties, these being food and exercise. 




'There is no fixed rule that I am aware of, in 
any public or private school where boys are 
boarded, and where a fixed and wholesome 
dietary is carried out ; but undoubtedly the 
schoolboy should have ample food to main- 
tain physical and mental strength, and on 
this, with plenty of sleep, depends his ability 
to stand hardship and maintain sound health 
and stamina. 

10. Beauty and comeliness in the female 
sex is almost entirely a matter of diet and 
exercise. Certainly nothing destroys this so 
effectively and gives the appearance of age 
so much as over-stoutness. There is no 
excuse for either sex becoming unwieldy, 
ungainly, and prematurely old. The female 
may seek the aid of the 
corseitire or the modiste^ 
but the burden with all its 
discomforts and dangers 
will not be hid, Hap- 
pily, a properly - consti- 
tuted dietary will quickly 
remove all this, and per- 
manently restore the 
figure and youthfulness 
of the sufferer. I think 
I may speak authorita- 
tively on this subject, as 
I have had occasion to 
advise people, personally 
and by correspondence, 
in all parts of the world 
for the reduction of weight. 
This, done by a properly- 
adjusted dietary, is rapid, 
permanent, and safe at 
any age. The victim 
should beware of quacks 
and their remedies. 

ii. Whatever form 
exercise may take it is 
important that it should 
bring the blood to the 
surface and induce perspiration, and this 
is not done unless the exercise, whatever 
kind it may be, is brisk. Outdoor exercise is 
undoubtedly essential to robust health, and 
in all cases when taken regularly and with 
discretion tends to increase strength and im- 
prove condition. If indoor exercise is taken 
the same rule applies and the object should 
be to induce perspiration, and to bring the 
greatest possible number of muscles into 

! Although our symposium shows some 


Frwn a Photo. 

striking divergences of opinion on certain 
points, yet in the main, and in regard 
to what may be called the core of the 
questions, there is exhibited a very remark- 
able agreement. For instance, all agree 
that tea taken too strong is injurious. 
Perhaps the greatest unity, however, is 
shown in regard to over-feeding. All agree 
that the well-to-do eat too much, and 
especially too much meat. Several writers 
think there is much over-eating on the part of 
the poor also, but in this case because they 
take the wrong sort of food. All, again, 
are fairly well agreed on the point of the 
feeding of infants ; the mother's milk is the 
best diet for them — until they get teeth. 

With regard to the feed- 
ing and care generally of 
children and youth we 
have some excellent re- 
marks, and parents can- 
not do better than take 
them to heart. The notes 
by Dr. Haddon on Scot- 
tish children are especi- 
ally noteworthy. The 
views, too, in regard to 
the health and beauty 
of women are well worth 
considering, though we 
may be sure they will not 
be followed — except, 
perhaps, by one here and 

And here we come to 
much divergence of 
opinion. While some per- 
ceive signs of deteriora- 
tion in the people, others 
rather scout the idea of 
such falling away from 
physical fitness. Dr. 
Rhodes, of Manchester, 
is very strong on this 
point, and he has given much thought to the 
subject. But it must be borne in mind that, 
while Dr. Rhodes is thinking of the Lan- 
cashire factory-worker, the generality of those 
whose views are given appear to have in mind 
the large mass of the upper and lower middle 
class — fairly well or extremely well-to-do— 
who show signs of deterioration because of 
their generally unhygienic habits. In this 
regard some of the opinions expressed are 
very outspoken and evidently no less sincere, 
and in any case are eminently worthy of the 
consideration of all 

by Google 

Original from 

Puck of Pook's Hill. 





was too hot to run about in 
the open, so Dan asked their 
friend, old Hobden, to take 
their own dinghy from the pond 
and put her on the brook at 
the bottom of the garden. Her 
painted name was the Daisy, but for exploring 
expeditions she was the Golden Hind or the 
Long Serpent, or some such suitable name. 
Dan hiked and howked with a boat-hook 
(the brook was too narrow for sculls), and 
Una punted with a piece of hop-pole. When 
they came to a very shallow place (the Golden 
Hind drew quite three inches of water) they 
disembarked and scuffled her over the gravel 
by her tow-rope, and when they reached the 
overgrown banks beyond the garden they 
pulled themselves up stream by the low 

That day they intended to discover the 
North -Cape like "Othere, the old sea- 
captain," in the book of verses which Una 
had brought with her, but on account of 
the heat they changed it to a voyage up the 
Amazon and the sources of the Nile. Even 
on the shaded water the air was hot and 
heavy with drowsy scents, while outside, 
through breaks in the trees, the sunshine 
burned the pasture like fire. The kingfisher 
was asleep on his watching branch, and the 
blackbirds scarcely took the trouble to dive 
into the next bush. Dragon-flies wheeling 
and clashing were the only things at work, 
except the moor-hens and a big Red Admiral, 
who flapped down out of the sunshine for a 

When they reached Otter Pool the Golden 
Htnd grounded comfortably on a shallow, 
and they lay beneath a roof of close green, 
watching the water trickle over the flood- 
gates down the mossy brick chute from the 
mill stream to the brook. A big trout — the 
children knew him well — rolled head and 
shoulders at some fly that sailed round the 
bend, while once in just so often the brook 
rose a fraction of an inch against all the wet 
pebbles, and they watched the slow draw and 
shiver of a breath of air through the tree 
tops. Then the little voices of the slipping 
water began again. 

" It's like the shadows talking, isn't it ? " 
said Una* She had given up trying to read. 
Dan lay over the bows, trailing his hands in 


the current. They heard feet on the gravel- 
bar that runs half across the pool and saw Sir 
Richard Dalyngridge standing over them. 

" Was yours a dangerous voyage ? " he 
asked, smiling. 

"She bumped a lot, sir," said Dan. 
" There's hardly any water this summer." 

" Ah, the brook was deeper and wider 
when my children played at Danish pirates. 
Are you pirate folk ? " 

" Oh, no. We gave up being pirates years 
ago," explained Una. " We're nearly always 
explorers now. Sailing round the world, 
you know." 

"Round?" said Sir Richard. He sat him 
in the comfortable crotch of an old ash-root 
on the bank. " How can it be round ? " 

" Wasn't it in your books ? " Dan sug- 
gested. He had been doing geography at 
his last lesson. 

" I can neither write nor read," he replied. 
" Canst thou read, child ? " 

"Yes," said Dan, "barring the very long 

" Wonderful ! Read to me, that I may 
hear for myself." 

Dan flushed, but opened the book and 
began gabbling a little at "The Discoverer 
of the North Cape." 

"Othere, the old sea captain, 
Who dwelt in Helgoland, 
To Alfred, lover of truth, 
Brought a snow-white walrus tooth, 
That he held in his right hand." 

" But — but — this I know ! This is an old 
song ! This I have heard sung ! This is 
a miracle," Sir Richard interrupted. "Nay, 
do not stop ! " He leaned forward, and the 
shadows of the leaves slipped and slid upon 
his chain-mail. 

" I ploughed the land with horses, 

But my heart was ill at ease, 

For the old sea-faring men 

Came to me now and then 

With their Sagas of the Seas." 

His hand fell on the hilt of the great 
sword. "This is truth," he cried, "for so 
did it happen to me," and he beat time 
delightedly to the tramp of verse after verse. 

44 4 And now the land/ said Othere, 

' Bent southward suddenly, 

And I followed the curving shore, 

And ever southward bore 

Into a nameless sea.' " 

" A nameless sea ! " he repeated. " So 
did I— so did Hugh and I." 

" Where did you go ? Tell us," said Una 

1906, by Rudyard Kipling, in the United Sun<:s of Km^HtlTl 


3 12 


think ye bring us luck, and I myself know 
the runes on that Sword are good.' He 
turned and bade them hoist sail. 

"Hereafter all made way for us as we 
walked about the ship, and the ship was full 
of wonders." 

" What was she like ? " said Dan. 

" Long, low, and narrow, bearing one mast 
with a red sail, and rowed by fifteen oars 
aside," the knight answered. "At her bows 
was a deck under which men might lie, and 
at her stern another shut off by a painted 
door from the rowers' benches. Here Hugh 
and I slept, with Witta and the Yellow Man, 
upon tapestries as soft as wool. I remember " 
— he laughed to himself — "when first we 
entered there a loud voice cried, 'Out 
swords ! out swords ! Kill, kill ! ' Seeing us 
start Witta laughed, and showed us it was 
but a great -beaked grey bird with a red 
tail. He sat her on his shoulder, and she 
called for bread and wine hoarsely, and 
prayed him to kiss her. Yet she was no more 
than a silly bird. But — ye knew this ? " He 
looked at their smiling faces. 

" We weren't laughing at you," said Una. 
"That must have been a parrot. It's just 
what Pollies do." 

" So we learned later. But here is another 
marvel. The Yellow Man, whose name was 
Kitai, had with him a brown box. In the 
box was a blue bowl with red marks upon the 
rim, and within the bowl, hanging from a fine 
thread, was a piece of iron no thicker than 
that grass stem, and as long, maybe, as my 
spur, but straight. In this iron, said Witta, 
abode an evil spirit which Kitai, the Yellow 
Man, had brought by art magic out of his 
own country that lay three years' journey 
southward. The evil spirit strove day and 
night to return to his country, and therefore, 
look you, the iron needle pointed continually 
to the South." 

" South ? " said Dan, suddenly, and put 
his hand into his pocket. 

" With my own eyes I saw it. Every day 
and all day long, though the, ship rolled, 
though the sun and the moon- and the stars 
were hid, this blind spirit in the iron knew 
whither it would go, and strained to the 
South. Witta called it the Wise Iron, because 
it showed him his way across the unknowable 
seas." Again Sir Richard looked keenly at the 
children. " How think ye ? Was it sorcery ? " 

" Was it anything like this ? " Dan fished 
out his old brass pocket-compass, that gener- 
ally lived with his knife and key ring. "The 
glass has got cracked, but the needle waggles 
all right, sir." 

Digitized by L^OOQle 

The knight drew a long breath of wonder. 
" Yes, yes. The Wise Iron shook and swung 
in just this fashion. " Now it is still. Now it 
points to the South." 

"North," said Dan. 

"Nay, South ! There is the South," said 
Sir Richard. Then they both laughed, for 
naturally if one end of a straight compass- 
needle points to the North, the other must 
point to* the South. 

"T<$," said Sir Richard, clicking his 
tongue. "There can be no sorcery if a 
child carries it Wherefore does it point 
South— or North?" 

" Father says nobody knows," said Una. 

Sir Richard looked relieved. "Then it 
may still be magic. It was magic to us. 
And so we voyaged. When the wind served 
we hoisted sail, and lay all up along the 
windward rail, our shields on our backs to 
break the spray. When it failed, they rowed 
with long oars ; the Yellow Man sat by the 
Wise Iron, and Witta steered. At first I 
feared the great white-flowering waves, but as 
I saw how wisely Witta led his ship among 
them I grew bolder. Hugh liked it well 
from the first. My skill is not upon the 
water; and rocks, and whirlpools such as 
we saw by the West Isles of France, where 
an oar caught on a rock and broke, are clean 
against my stomach. We sailed South 
across a stormy sea, where by moonlight, 
between clouds, we saw a Flanders ship roll 
clean over and sink. Again, though Hugh 
laboured with Witta all night, I lay under the 
deck with the Talking Bird, and cared not 
whether I lived or died. There is a 
sickness of the sea which is pure death 
for three days. When we next saw land 
Witta said it was Spain, and we stood 
out to sea. That coast was full of ships 
busy in the Duke's war against the 
Moors, and we feared to be hanged by the 
Duke's men or sold into slavery by the 
Moors. So we put into a small harbour 
which Witta knew. At night men came 
down with loaded mules, and Witta exchanged 
amber out of the Baltic against little wedges 
of iron and packets of beads in earthen pots. 
The pots he put under the decks, and the 
wedges of iron he laid on the bottom of the 
ship after he had cast out the stones and 
shingle which till then had been our ballast. 
Wine, too, he bought for lumps of sweet- 
smelling grey amber — a little morsel no 
bigger than a thumbnail purchased a cask of 
wine. But I speak like a merchant." 

" No, no. Tell us what you had to eat," 
cried Dan. 




"Meat dried in the sun, and dried fish 
and ground beans, Witta took in, and loaded 
frails of a certain sweet, soft fruit, which the 
Moors use, which is like paste of figs, but 
with thin, long stones. Ah ! Dates is the 

" ' Now,' said Witta, when the ship was 
loaded, ' I counsel you, strangers, to pray to 
your gods, for from here on our road is No 
Man's road/ He and his men killed a black 
goat for sacrifice on the bows ; and the 
Yellow Man brought out a small, smiling 
image of dull-green glass and burned incense 
before it Hugh and I commended our- 
selves to God, and Saint Bartholomew, and 
Our Lady of the Assumption, who was 
specially dear to my Lady. 
We were not young, but I 
think no shame to say when, 
as we drove out of that secret 


harbour at sunrise over a still sea, we two 
rejoiced and sang as did the knights of 
old when they followed our great Duke 
to England. Yet was our leader an heathen 
pirate; all our proud fleet but one galley 
perilously overloaded ; for guidance we 
leaned on a pagan sorcerer; and our port 
was beyond the world's end. Witta told 
us that his father Guthrum had once in 
his life rowed along the shores of Africa to a 

Vol xxxL-40. 

land where naked men sold gold for iron and 
beads. There had he bought much gold, 
and no few elephants' teeth, and thither by 
help of the Wise Iron would Witta go. 
Witta feared nothing— except to be poor. 

" ' My father told me/ said Witta, ' that a 
great Shoal runs three days' sail out from that 
land, and south of the shoal lies a forest, 
which grows in the sea. South and east of 
the Forest my father came to a place where 
ten men hid gold in their hair ; but all that 
country, he said, was full of Devils who lived 
in trees, and tore folk limb from limb. How 
think ye ?' 

u i Gold or no gold/ said Hugh, fingering 
his sword, ' it is a joyous venture. Have at 
those devils of thine, Witta/ 

11 * Venture ! ' said Witta, sourly. ' I am 
only a poor sea-thief. I do not set my life 
adrift on a plank for joy, or the venture. 
Once I beach ship again at Staffanger, and 
feel the wife's arms round my neck, Til seek 
no more ventures. A ship is heavier care 
than a wife or cattle.' 

11 He leaped down among the rowers, 
chiding them for their little 
strength and their great 
stomachs. Yet Witta was a 
wolf in fight, and a very fox 
in cunning. 

" We were driven South by 
a storm, and for three days 
and three nights he took the 
stern-oar, and threddled the 
long ship through the sea. 
When it rose beyond measure 
he brake a pot of whale's oil 
upon the water, which won- 
derfully smoothed it, and in 
that anointed patch he turned 
her head to the wind and 
threw out oars at the end of 
a rope, to make, he said, an 
anchor at which we lay rolling 
surely, but dry. This craft his father Guthrum 
had shown him. He knew, too, all the 
Leech-Book of Bald, who was a wise doctor, 
and he knew the Ship-Book of Hlaf the 
Woman, who robbed Egypt He knew all 
the care of a ship. 

*' After the storm we saw a mountain 
whose top was covered with snow and 
pierced the clouds. The grasses under this 
mountain, boiled and eaten, are a good cure 
for soreness of the gums and swelled ankles. 
We lay there eight days, till men in skins 
threw stones at us. When the heat increased 
Witta spread a cloth on bent sticks above the 
rowers, for the wind failed between the Island 




of the Mountain and the shore of Africa, 
which is east of it That shore is sandy, and 
we rowed along it within three bowshots. 
Here we saw whales, and fish in the shape of 
shields, but longer than our ship. Some slept, 
some opened their mouths at us, and some 
danced on the hot waters. The water was hot 
to the hand, and the sky was hidden by hot, 
grey mists, out of which blew a fine dust that 
whitened our hair and beards of a morning. 
Here, too, were fish that flew in the air like 
birds. They would fall on the laps of the 
rowers, and when we went ashore we would 
roast and eat them." 

The knight paused to see if the children 
doubted him, but they only nodded and said, 

" The yellow land lay on our left, the grey 
sea on our right. Knight though I was, I 
pulled my oar amongst the rowers. I caught 
seaweed and dried it, and stuffed it between 
the pots of beads lest they should break. 
Knighthood is for the land. At sea, look you, 
a man is but a naked man on a bridleless 
horse. I learned to make strong knots in 
ropes — yes, and to join two ropes end to end, 
so that even Witta could scarcely see where 
they had been married. But Hugh had tenfold 
more sea-cunning than I. Witta gave him 
charge of the rowers of the left side. Thorkild 
of Borkum, a man with a broken nose, that 
wore a Norman steel cap, had the rowers of 
the right, and each side rowed and sang 
against the other. They saw that no man 
was idle. Truly, as Hugh said, and Witta 
would laugh at him, a ship is all more care 
than a manor. 

" How ? Thus. There was water to fetch 
from the shore when we could find it, as well 
as wild fruit and grasses, and sand for scrub- 
bing of the decks and benches to keep them 
sweet. Also we hauled the ship out on low 
islands and emptied all her gear, even to the 
iron wedges, and burned off the weed that 
had grown on her with torches of rush, 
and smoked below the decks with rushes 
dampened in salt water, as Hlaf the Woman 
orders in her Ship-Book. Once when we 
were thus stripped, and the ship lay propped 
on her side, the bird cried, ' Out swords ! ' 
as though she saw an enemy. Witta vowed 
he would wring her neck." 

" Poor Polly ! Did he ? " said Una. 

"Nay. She was the ship's bird. She could 
call ail the rowers by name. . . . Those 
were good days — for a wifeless man — with 
Witta and his heathen — beyond the world's 
end . . . After many weeks we came on the 
great surf which stretched, as Witta's father 

Digitized by LiOOQ IC 

had said, far out to sea. We skirted it til) 
we were giddy with the sight and dizzy with 
the sound of shoals and breakers, and when 
we reached land again we found a naked 
people dwelling among woods, who for one 
little wedge of iron loaded us with fruits and 
grasses and eggs. Witta scratched his head 
at them in sign he would buy gold. They 
had no gold, but they understood the sign 
(all the gold-traders hide their gold in their 
thick hair), for they pointed along the coast. 
They beat, too, on their chests with their 
clenched hands, and that, if we had known 
it, was an evil sign." 

" What did it mean ?" said Dan. 

"Patience. Ye shall hear. We followed 
the coast eastward sixteen days (counting 
time by sword-cuts on the helm-rail) till we 
came to the Forest in the Sea. Trees grew 
there out of mud, arched upon lean and high 
roots, and many muddy waterways ran all 
whither into darkness under the trees. Here 
we lost the sun. We followed the winding 
channels between the trees, and where we 
could not row we laid hold of the crusted 
roots and hauled ourselves along. The 
water was foul, and great glittering flies 
tormented us. Morning and evening a blue 
mist covered the mud, which bred fevers. 
Four of our rowers sickened, and were bound 
to their benches, lest they should leap over- 
board and be eaten by the monsters of the 
mud. The Yellow Man lay sick beside the 
Wise Iron, rolling his head and talking in his 
own tongue, Only the Bird throve. She 
sat on Witta's shoulder and screamed in that 
noisome, silent darkness. Yes ; I think it 
was the silence we feared." 

He paused to listen to the comfortable 
home noises of the brook. 

" When we had lost count of time among 
those black gullies and swashes we heard, as 
it were, a drum beat far off, and following it 
we broke into a broad, brown river by a hut 
in a clearing among fields of pumpkins. We 
thanked God to see the sun again. The 
people of the village gave the good welcome, 
and Witta scratched his head at them (for 
gold), and showed them our iron and beads. 
They ran to the bank — we were still in the 
ship — and pointed to our swords and bows, 
for always when near shore we lay armed. 
Soon they fetched store of gold in bars and 
in dust from their huts, and some great 
blackened elephant teeth. These they piled 
on the bank, as though to tempt us, and 
made signs of dealing blows in battle, and 
pointed up to the tree tops, and to the forest 
behind. Theirr captain or chief sorcerer then 




beat on his chest with 
his fists, and gnashed 
his teeth. 

"Said Thorkild of 
Borkum : * Do they 
mean we must fight 
for all this gear ? ' and 
he half drew sword. 

1,1 Nay/ said Hugh. 
1 1 think they ask us 
to league against some 

(<i I like this not, 7 
said Witta, of a sud- 
den. ' Back into mid- 

" So we did, and sat 
still all, watching the 
black folk and the 
gold they piled on the 
bank. Again we heard 
drums beat in the 
forest, and the people 
fled to their huts, 
leaving the gold un- 

" Then Hugh, in the bows, pointed without 
speech, and we saw a great Devil come out of 
the forest He shaded his brows with his 
hand, and moistened his pink tongue between 
his lips — thus/' 

"A Devil ! n said Dan, delightfully horrified. 

11 Yea. Taller than a man ; covered 
with reddish hair. When he had well con- 
sidered our ship, he beat on his chest with 
his fists till it sounded like rolling drums, 
and came to the bank swinging all his body 
between his long arms, and gnashed his teeth 
at us. Hugh loosed arrow, and pierced him 
through the throat. He fell roaring, and 
three other Devils ran out of the forest and 
hauled him into a tall tree out of sight. 
Anon they cast down the blood-stained 
arrow, and lamented together among the 
leaves. Witta saw the gold on the bank ; he 
was loath to leave it. 'Sirs/ said he (and no 
man had spoken till then), ' yonder is what 
we have come so far and so painfully to find, 
laid out to our very hand. Let us row in 
while these Devils bewail themselv